


if you keep holding me this way

by trishapocalypse



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (harry is 17 and zayn is 25), (it's minimal but it's there), (kind of but also not but it's also a theme and it kind of isn't), Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Betrayal, Bloodplay, Bottom Harry, M/M, Socialite!Harry, Stockholm Syndrome, assassin!zayn, there's a mention of nick/harry and zayn/liam, there's also brief eleanor/sophia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 20:56:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 43,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3089279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trishapocalypse/pseuds/trishapocalypse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Zayn picked up the two bags, double checking the room to make sure nothing was left behind, and he froze the minute he heard the door open. “Ni, wait.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Niall shut the door, turning to face Zayn. “Yeah?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“You can’t forget the most important part,” Zayn told him. </i>
</p><p><i>Louis’ eyebrows rose.</i> </p><p> <i>“If anyone’s going to kill Harry Styles, it’s going to be me.”</i></p><p> </p><p>(Or: A modern day Royal!AU where Harry is Socialite Royalty, Liam is his bodyguard, Zayn is kind of an assassin, and Niall and Louis are his sidekicks.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you keep holding me this way

**Author's Note:**

> WELL! This has been quite the labor of love. It has taken me over a year and a half (well, that’s when I started it…and then promptly ignored it for almost a year) and here we are. I want to send out a massive, massive thank you to my darlings KitKat, Alyce, and Carlee, for being the three best cheerleaders I could ask for. Thank you for the late night texts and mental breakdowns about how I’m an awful writer and why did I do this to myself? I figured this might be a good way to ring in the new year? Who knows. Umm, I believe I’ve tagged everything appropriately, but if you feel something else needs to be tagged, please let me know and I’ll add it! Okay, I’ve worked excrutiatingly hard on this, I definitely consider it my baby, so I really, really hope that you like it! It’s different than what I normally write, but I’m pretty proud of it. So I hope that you enjoy it! You’re all so lovely and beautiful and I hope you had an amazing 2014 and, if you didn’t, then 2015 is your year, baby, own it. :)
> 
> tumblr: @trishanthemum if you want to talk! :)
> 
> Also, the amazing and gorgeous Kat made me a playlist for this fic! Because she's wonderful. You can see that [here](http://heartprintharry.tumblr.com/post/107344711351/%22)!

“How could you let this happen, Harry? You have an _image_ to protect, for God’s sake! You’re my son—“

Harry sighed, slouching down against the smooth leather of one of the chairs in his father’s study. 

Robin paused and stopped pacing behind his desk. “I’m sorry. Do you have something better to do? Somewhere else you need to be?”

“No,” Harry said quietly. 

“You’re my son, Harry, and—“

“Except I’m not,” Harry interrupted softly, “not really.”

Robin sucked in a deep breath, eyes shutting briefly, and his hands gripped the back of his desk chair. Steadying his breathing, his eyes slipped open and met those of Harry. “I know this wasn’t your first choice, Harry. When I married your mother, you took on a big role, one you weren’t prepared for. And I know this isn’t what you want, training to take over my company, but,” he hesitated again, taking a moment to observe Harry; his arms were crossed over his chest, his bottom lip sucked into his mouth, a slant to his eyes that was hardly ever there. “You have responsibilities, Harry. You have an image to protect, a reputation. You have to be _careful_ when you go out, Harry. That’s why I hired Liam—“

“Don’t drag him into this, Robin, please,” Harry said, stopping his father—his _step-_ father—in mid-sentence. He uncrossed his arms from his chest and ran his hands through his curls, pushing them away from his forehead. “He didn’t— It was my idea, okay? Liam didn’t—Liam didn’t have anything to do with it,” he insisted. “It was my idea, and Liam couldn’t stop me.”

“He’s got at least twenty kilos on you, Harry; don’t tell me he _couldn’t_ stop you. He’s your bodyguard. That’s his job—to stop you from doing stupid things like smoking weed in a crowded club, accepting drinks when you’re underage, and getting photographed snogging some random _bloke_ in the middle of said crowded club,” Robin explained, his voice raising towards the end of his tangent. 

Harry hung his head, elbows resting against his knees, and he was embarrassed. Well, that was a strong word; he wasn’t embarrassed by his actions, no, he was embarrassed that he was _caught._ He was seventeen years old, his step-father was the owner and CEO of the biggest public relations firm in all of Europe so, of course, all eyes were on him and their family—especially the rival company out of Italy; they were all waiting for Harry Styles, step-son and CEO-in-training to mess up, anything to discredit the Robin’s name, anything to sweep the company right out from Robin’s feet. And there Harry was, caught smoking weed, drinking, and snogging some DJ at a club. Because Harry was an _idiot,_ he really was; he was supposed to be careful, really careful, and he wasn’t and now Robin was upset, and his mum—oh, god, his _mum._ “I’m sorry,” he muttered finally, looking down at the scuffed toe of his suede boots. 

“I don’t need you to be sorry, Harry, I need you to be careful,” Robin told him. “There’s only so much our people can do. Now if you want to come out—“

Harry’s head snapped up instantly. “What?”

Robin leveled him with an even stare. “We only have a few ways to spin this, Harry. You can either come out—“

“But I’m—I’m not—I just—“ Harry stuttered. “What is wrong with everyone having to _label_ things? Can’t I just—like whomever I like without having to label it? It’s the twenty first century, Robin, sexuality is fluid, it’s…” he trailed off. “I’m only seventeen. Do I have to label it already?” he asked.

“I wish you didn’t have to, Harry,” Robin told him. “Your sexuality is not an issue. We can—I have clout, okay? I can…do something,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t know what, but we can figure something out. If you don’t come out, we can have the papers write it off as teenage experimentation but—“

“I really don’t want to have this conversation with you,” he grumbled. “Can you just—have them say whatever they want? I don’t—I don’t _care._ ”

“You have to care, Harry. You’re going to be eighteen in less than a year. You know my health is…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “You’re going to be in charge soon. We have to be on top of things, okay? We have to figure out where to go from here,” Robin explained. 

“Robin—“

Robin sighed. “Do you just want me to take care of it, Harry? In the same way I’ve taken care of everything else in the last ten years?” he asked.

Harry nodded. 

“I’ve tried to explain this to you for almost a decade, Harry,” Robin told him softly. “I’ve tried to tell you about your expectations, your responsibilities—“

“I _know,_ Robin,” Harry said. “But I don’t _want this._

“You don’t have a choice, Harry!” Robin snapped.

Harry sat back in the chair, eyes wide, because Robin got upset with him frequently, yes, but he never _yelled._ Though, well, Harry kind of deserved it. He did kind of, just a little bit, gotten papped snogging a bloke and he was kind of, if not completely, _social royalty_ (he really preferred being called that instead of a _socialite,_ thank you very much) and someone was constantly watching him, waiting for him to mess up, and he _did_ and—yeah, he deserved it. 

But he didn’t—he didn’t _want_ this; he didn’t want to be in charge of a company, having everyone do everything he told them. He was okay with going to uni and getting a menial job, getting those _life experiences_ that everyone else seemed to have. But then his mum met Robin and, well, the rest was history. It was a Cinderella story of sorts, and he was happy for his mum, he really was—after his father walked out on them, he knew his mum was unhappy. So for her to meet Robin, fall in love, _whatever,_ well. She deserved it, she did; but Harry—he didn’t _want_ any of it. But Robin was right—he didn’t have a _choice._ He should’ve been an adult, really, about the whole situation—facing adversity and being mature or whatever—but he wasn’t. Because he was still seventeen, and he couldn’t even go out to a club with his best mate-slash-bodyguard without having the papers follow him around. 

He _hated_ it.

“Go on,” Robin said with a resigned sigh.

Harry frowned. “What—“

“Go on,” he repeated. “You don’t want to hear me rambling on and on any more than I want to ramble on and on. I’ll have my team take care of this fiasco, like normal, and you can just—go on.”

“I—“ Harry bit his lip. “Please don’t take any of this out on Liam, please. He’s—He doesn’t deserve that, yeah? He tried and—he tried to stop me, okay? He’s—Please, just—“

“Fine,” Robin said with a cursory wave of his hand. “Just go.”

Harry paused for a solid ten seconds before slowly standing up from the chair. Robin didn’t meet his eyes, didn’t say a word, didn’t do _anything_ as Harry exited the room. He shut the door quietly behind him, looking between the two guards standing on each side of him. He nodded towards them, a small smile on his face, and he met the warm brown eyes of his best mate and bodyguard.

“Are you— Is everything okay?” Liam asked, standing up from the bench and shoving his hands into the pockets of his faded jeans. 

Harry didn’t say anything; he nodded towards the hallway and started walking. He knew Liam was following him without having to look behind him; he made his way up the stairs, easily bypassing the maids running around (because someone was _always_ running around), until he was in the safe haven that was his bedroom. 

“Harry—“ Liam hesitated, shutting the door quietly behind him. “Do you want me to talk to him?”

Harry found himself laughing softly, shaking his head. “No, it’s— Don’t worry about it,” he told him.

“Oh.” Liam walked over to him slowly, reaching out to rest his hand along Harry’s shoulder. “Do you…want to talk about it?”

Harry shrugged, sitting on the edge of his bed and sinking into the mattress. 

Liam joined him in an instant, lying down next to him. 

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Harry whispered. “He’s not mad at you. Well, he might’ve been, but. He isn’t now, so.”

Liam nodded, but it didn’t stop his stomach from twisting. “I should’ve—“

“No,” Harry said. “I—I should’ve known better. My—I mean, this whole…position isn’t new to me, you know? I know, I’ve _known,_ and I just—I didn’t care, yeah?”

“Harry…”

“I don’t want any of this, Li,” he admitted. “But I can’t get out. And I don’t know how to deal with it.”

“Harry—“

“I don’t want t’ talk about it, Li,” Harry told him. 

“Okay,” Liam agreed easily. He might’ve been Harry’s bodyguard, but he was absolutely useless at telling the lad no to anything. That was part of the reason that they were in their current _predicament,_ because Harry was always more adorable when he was tipsy, his eyes bright and a little red after a couple of joints, his hand easily finding Liam’s lower back, his lips against his ear, _but he’s so cute, Li, just five minutes, yeah?_ And, well, Liam was really, really bad at telling him no. Even though he should’ve kept a closer eye out, shouldn’t _known,_ really, that someone was probably watching them—He could’ve avoided all of it. But Harry was stupidly pretty with his bright green eyes and pretty pink lips and—yeah, Liam couldn’t tell him no; and that, well, that was how Harry had gotten papped snogging with one of London’s most famous DJ’s from BBC Radio 1. It was definitely Liam’s fault, but Harry didn’t let him accept the blame, he never did. 

Harry reached out for Liam’s hand, threading their fingers together, tugging on his arm. He whined softly when Liam didn’t react, tugging at his arm again until Liam gave in and rolled over, covering half of Harry’s body with his own. Harry snuggled into his side, tucking his face into the crook of Liam’s neck. 

Liam let go of Harry’s hand, allowing the younger lad to wrap his arms around Liam’s back, holding him close. Harry’s hands traced the outline of Liam’s spine over the fabric of his thin black shirt before slipping under the hem, cold fingers resting along the warm skin. “Am I hurting you?” Liam asked out of habit, well aware of the fact that he was quite bigger than Harry’s lanky frame.

Harry shook his head and pulled him closer until Liam was resting his weight on his forearms, hovering over his body. “Next time I’ve the bright idea to snog a lad in a club, don’t let me,” he whispered.

“I tried—“

“Just—don’t, yeah?” Harry said. 

Liam nodded.

“Next time, just…drag me to the car and snog me yourself, yeah? S’much nicer, anyway.”

Liam felt himself flush again, like he normally did whenever Harry paid him a compliment of any sort, because Harry was a _celebrity_ of sorts and Liam was his _bodyguard_ and, yeah, okay, they were best mates but—still. 

Harry tilted his head up and pressed his lips against the side of Liam’s neck, feeling him shiver. “Hey, Li?”

“Hmm?”

“Can we snuggle and kip for a while?”

“Harry—“

“Please? After that meeting with Robin, think I sort of need one, yeah?”

Liam sighed.

Harry grinned, knowing that Liam wouldn’t say no. He shoved at his shoulder, pushing him away, and he sat up, kicking off his boots. “Shoes and trousers off, Li, you know the rules,” he told him with a smile. Harry pushed his skinny jeans down his legs while Liam toed off his boots, discarding his own jeans, and Harry pulled back the cover of his bed. He climbed underneath, reaching out for Liam and instantly snuggling against his side, pulling the blanket over their shoulders. “You’re the best snuggler. You should be promoted.”

“To what? Royal Snuggler to the Princess?” Liam teased, a mocking lilt to his voice whenever he called Harry a princess, something that made the lad flush and punch his arm, and he only did it because Harry insisted that being called a _socialite_ was embarrassing and _social royalty_ was infinitely better. Liam didn’t care either way—whatever made Harry blush was good in his book. “M’sure that’s not even a real thing.”

“I can make it a thing,” Harry told him.

Liam wrapped an arm tightly around Harry’s back, slipping under his thin t-shirt, rubbing soft circles against his skin. He felt Harry relax against him, one of Harry’s legs slipping between his own. “We can’t sleep for too long. You have that event tonight with your parents.”

Harry groaned. “Was hopin’ ya forgot about that,” he muttered.

“I’m paid to remember these things,” Liam told him.

“You’re not paid to snog me, but you do that, too.”

Liam flushed.

Harry giggled against the side of Liam’s neck. “Relax, Li. S’not like any of them know.”

“Yeah.”

Harry smiled softly, tightening his hold around Liam as if he was never going to let go and, to be fair, he probably didn’t _want_ to. “Do you think I can do it?” he asked quietly.

“Do what?”

“This, all of it,” Harry said vaguely. “Y’know, the whole…leading some silly corporation and all that. Even though I have absolutely no experience,” he added gravely.

“I know you can. You’ve watched Robin do it long enough,” Liam reassured him, pressing his lips against Harry’s temple. 

“Yeah, but I don’t, like, _know_ how to do it. I just know how to charm people at events. That’s the only reason Robin wants me there.”

“That’s not true,” Liam said softly, pulling Harry a little closer. “Now sleep for a bit, yeah? I’ll wake you when it’s time to get ready.”

Harry smiled, nodding. “Sleep well, Li.”

 

+

 

_”You need to promise me something.”_

_“Anything, baba.”_

_“I—Keep your family safe, your sisters. I—I couldn’t. It’s your job now.”_

_He blinked back tears. In almost thirteen years, he had never cried in front of his father, at least that he remembered, and he wasn’t going to start then, not at all. “But—“_

_“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.”_

_“Baba—“_

“Zayn.”

Zayn was woken from his dream by a shake to his shoulder and his mate’s voice in his ear. He sat up slowly, rubbing at his eyes with the palm of his hands, and he blinked lazily up at Louis. “Yeah?”

“Get dressed. We got t’go,” Louis said with a shrug. 

“Yeah, alright,” Zayn said with a nod. He stood up slowly, rolling his shoulders, and he promised himself that it was definitely the last time he would fall asleep on a desk. (It probably wouldn’t be, but he was going to put in more of an effort to actually climb into a bed next time—or at least find a couch, maybe. Even the _floor_ wouldn’t been preferable.) He shuffled around the small hotel room for his satchel, tugging out a change of clothes. As he pulled his black tank top over his head, tossing it aside, his eyes landed on Louis, snorting out a laugh. “What are you wearing?”

Louis looked down at the pressed black slacks, the white button up, his fingers fiddling with the tie around his neck. “One of us has to fit in, mate.”

“Then why am I dressed up, too?” 

Zayn turned when he heard the sound of Niall’s voice, and he couldn’t stop the immediate laugh that escaped his mouth. His clothes on the bed forgotten, he slapped a hand over his mouth. “What are _you_ wearing?”

Niall frowned, which was a sight in and of itself because Niall never _frowned._ Ever—not in the…well Zayn hadn’t known him that long, but he knew Niall always smiled. But Zayn guessed that the slacks, button up, vest, and tie had something to do with the lack of sparkle in Niall’s bright eyes. “Lou—“

“No, Ni,” Louis said, interrupting the Irishman before he could even start. “This is the plan.”

“I never liked the plan,” Niall protested. 

Louis grinned. “M’actually quite a fan of it, Ni. You look rather dapper in a suit and waistcoat.”

Niall rolled his eyes, the frown leaving his face slowly, and he walked over to the floor-length mirror that was outside the washroom. He surveyed himself, fixing the cufflinks around his wrists, and he shrugged. “I do clean up rather nice, yeah?”

Zayn laughed, shaking his head; he could count on one hand the number of times that he had seen Niall in a suit, and he was still surprised. But Louis was right—Niall did look good, and he _had_ to—he didn’t have a choice. Because Niall and Louis were rather unrecognizable in the city, whereas Zayn was still paranoid that _someone_ would recognize him, and they had to blend in. They had to become a part of that scene, just for the night; they had to belong. And Zayn, Zayn had to make sure that he blended in, yes, but not as one of them, more like into his surroundings, hoping no one would notice him. He tugged a plain black shirt over his head, changing into a pair of tight black jeans, and he shrugged on his jacket. 

“Why do you get to be comfortable? Why can’t I scope the area or be the escape driver?” Niall asked. “That— _That_ I could do in sweats.”

“Because, Ni,” Louis started with an overdramatic sigh, “he’s paid the big bucks to abduct innocent little lads. He’s got to do the whole cloak-and-dagger thing, blend in with the shadows bullshit. He always gets the easy jobs.”

“Piss off,” Zayn mumbled. “Last I checked, I’m the only one with blood on my hands. You two just wanted to do field work instead of sitting behind a desk,” he pointed out. “You had to have known Paul was going to throw you to the wolves. He doesn’t do anything half-arsed.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “I was bound to get a crazy assignment like this anyway. The Italians love me. Unlike you.”

“Gee, thanks,” Zayn mumbled.

“S’not my fault your dad tried to kill them—“

“Louis—“

“What? It isn’t,” Louis said with a shrug. “And it’s not my fault the only reason you’re alive is to do whatever they tell you.”

“That’s business,” Zayn told him.

“Lads—“ Niall tried to interrupt.

“It doesn’t have to be yours—“

“Don’t you think if I had a way to get out, I would?” Zayn asked. “You think getting out isn’t something I think about every single day? It’s—It’s one last job, okay?”

“You think they’ll actually let you out after this? You believe that shit? You believe _Paul_? Zayn,” Louis scoffed, looking down at his cufflinks and fiddling with them, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it, even though it was an argument he and Zayn had had plenty of times before.

Zayn swallowed and walked back over to the bed, opening his satchel and pulling out one of his smaller guns, strapping it against his ankle, tucking it inside of his boot. “I have a family to think of. The job sucks, but the Italians pay well—and Paul pays well. As long as my mum and sisters are cared for, I do what I have to. They—They have to let me out. They agreed. Paul might be a right bastard, but when it comes to business, he’s a man of his word.”

“Who are you trying to convince with that bullshit line?” Louis snapped.

Zayn’s jaw clenched and he pushed is bag away, turning around to face Louis. “I do what I have to do for my family and for my survival. You know that.”

“I hope they do, you know,” Louis said quietly, “let you out. And I know what it’s like, Zayn, I—“ he trailed off softly, barely meeting Zayn’s eyes. “I have sisters, too.”

Zayn scoffed. “In a posh vacation home in Milan. Yes, m’sure they’re suffering. Which sister of yours is dating Paul’s eldest nephew again?”

“Hey—“ Louis snapped, eyes blazing, and he took a step towards Zayn, only stopping when Niall pressed a hand to his chest, pushing him back.

“Stop!” Niall interrupted loudly, stepping between them. “We’re not getting into this again, yeah? We know what we have to do. Can we focus on the job, please?”

Louis nodded, swallowing and calming himself down, taking a step back so he wasn’t braced for a fight. He didn’t want to fight Zayn—he had no reason to. “He’s right. Our situation is shit. Niall and I here are the poor unfortunate souls who just _had_ to befriend you and now we have to help with your dirty work,” he teased, softening the low blow with a smile and a wink.

“Did you just quote The Little Mermaid?” Zayn asked, eyes crinkling at the edges; he and Louis could fight as much as they want (and they often did), but he could never stay mad at him for too long.

Louis hesitated. “Perhaps. That’s not the point.”

Niall laughed it off, thankful they were no longer bickering, and he ran a hand through his hair, frowning when he was met with too much product. “You’re never fixing my hair again, Lou. Is this gel ever gon’ wash out?”

“Stop messin’ it up, ya little shit,” Louis said, reaching over and slapping Niall’s hands away from his hair. “We gotta fix these roots, mate, you’re lookin’ a little white trash.”

Niall rolled his eyes and slapped Louis on the stomach. “You’re just jealous, Lou. S’not a good look on you.”

Zayn sat down on the edge of the bed and re-laced his boots, keeping the laces on the right one a little loose in case he needed his gun. “Everything on schedule, Ni?”

“Yeah,” Niall announced. “They’re set to arrive at half-six, dinner’s at half-seven, so that gives us an hour to find him and get him out. If I’ve planned this correctly, we should be on the road by quarter after.”

“He’s leaving out one little problem,” Louis interjected.

“It’s not a _problem._ We can handle it.”

“What’s the problem?” Zayn asked, his stomach dropping. That was the last thing he needed, the last thing _they_ needed, an unexpected problem. They had spent too much time planning and thinking and making sure everything, every little detail was _perfect_ for there to be any sort of problem.

“It’s arguably a minor snafu,” Niall told him. 

Louis rolled his eyes and fixed Niall’s hair quickly, smoothing the strands back into place. “He’s fucking his bodyguard. S’gonna be pretty hard to separate them.”

Zayn cursed and stood up, his smoothed his hands over the front of his jeans. “What do you suggest we do?” he asked, turning to Niall.

Niall bit his lip. “We gotta separate them somehow.”

“That won’t be possible. Not after what’s in the papers,” Zayn pointed out, remembering blurry photographs of a messy snogging session that should’ve been confined to a bedroom rather than in the middle of a crowded club. “They’ll be glued together. This is hopeless.”

“It’s not,” Louis insisted, resting a hand on Zayn’s shoulder. “We can still do this. We’ve come too far to turn back now, Z. One last job, right?”

Zayn sighed, rubbing at his temples. 

“I’ve got it under control,” Niall insisted. “Ya trust me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Zayn replied instantly, nodding. “Of course.”

Niall smiled, eyes bright. “Good.” He walked over to the opposite bed, opening up his satchel; he dug around until he found a little black case at the bottom, and he pulled it out. He tossed a couple of items towards Louis and Zayn before putting his own clear earpiece where it belonged, fastening the watch around his wrist. Niall was all about the gadgets, really, new little toys that made communicating on the go even faster. It was far less conspicuous than anything else, and far more convenient. Niall pulled out his .22 caliber, making sure the safety was on before he shoved it in the waistband of his slacks at the small of his back. He shrugged on his suit jacket, tucking a small knife into the left pocket, another one into the pocket of his slacks. 

Louis followed suit, pulling on his suit jacket to conceal his weapon, a switchblade in his pocket where he could easily reach it. He looked up to see Zayn staring at a small slip of paper in his hands before folding it carefully. “Sure ya wanna do that, mate? Your prints are gon’ be all over it.”

Zayn shrugged. “It has to be me,” he told him. “You heard what Paul said. I’m the best,” he shrugged again. 

“You’re their scapegoat if anything goes wrong,” Louis pointed out.

“Nothing will go wrong. I’m the best, remember?” he said sadly. “Besides, no one says no to Paul.” He shoved the paper into the back pocket of his jeans before pulling out his own knife, tucking it into the waistband of his jeans. He hated guns, honestly—they were too big, too noisy, too obvious, he thought. He was a good shot, but he never carried one—tonight was an exception. No, he left that to Niall and Louis, because Louis had no fear and Niall never missed a target, moving or not. He was the best marksman Zayn had ever seen; Louis was a close second, but Zayn reckoned that Louis preferred other methods. 

“Ready?” Niall asked.

Zayn nodded. “I’ll park the car ‘round back, yeah? If there’s any hiccups, you tell me first. If anything is going to change, alert me. I can be inside in less than twenty seconds. Have you memorized the blue prints?”

Niall and Louis nodded at the same time.

“Good,” Zayn said. “The party’s on the first floor, the security will be massive. If at any time either of you think you can’t get past or that your covers will be blown, you alert me, yeah?”

“Got it,” Niall said with a nod.

“We’ll be fine.”

“Most times I appreciate your confidence, Louis, but you must be _careful,_ ” Zayn told him.

Louis nodded. “I will. We got this.”

Zayn sighed, running a hand over his hair before he reached for a beanie, tugging it on over his hair. Giving himself a quick glance in the mirror, he felt his shoulders slump. It was gonna be hard, he knew that, trying to get close enough… But he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t fail; his life—and, subsequently, his family’s lives—was depending upon him finishing this job. 

Louis walked up behind him, wrapping his arms around Zayn’s waist. “We got this, Z,” he whispered. “Trust me and Niall to help you out, okay?”

Zayn nodded; Louis was right. Niall had never let him down, Louis had never let him down, and he had no reason to be panicking. Well, he had a few of them, but—Louis was _right._ They could do this, and they would. 

“Let’s go,” Niall said, patting Zayn’s cheek with a ridiculous grin before making his way to the door.

Zayn picked up the two bags, double checking the room to make sure nothing was left behind, and he froze the minute he heard the door open. “Ni, wait.”

Niall shut the door, turning to face Zayn. “Yeah?”

“You can’t forget the most important part,” Zayn told him. 

Louis’ eyebrows rose.

“If anyone’s going to kill Harry Styles, it’s going to be me.”

 

+

 

“Harry, you are not to leave Liam’s side at all tonight, understood?”

Harry’s jaw clenched but he nodded, because he did understand; he understood that he didn’t have a choice, yet again, and that arguing with Robin wasn’t productive in any way so, yeah, he _understood._ He watched as Robin turned, his arm around his mum’s waist. “Mum—“

“Behave yourself, Harry,” Anne told him quietly.

“I will,” he promised, for his mum. Disappointing Robin wasn’t a big deal; it wouldn’t keep Harry awake at night, but his mum? She was all he had prior to her meeting Robin, and he wasn’t about to risk that for anything. 

Anne smiled, mouthing a quick _love you_ to her son, before allowing her husband to lead her off in a different direction.

Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek, turning to his side to look up at Liam. “I know you hate these things as much as I do,” he grumbled. “Sorry this is how you have to spend your night.”

Liam smiled softly, resting a hand on Harry’s shoulder, a touch nondescript and apparently meaningless to anyone else, but it was comforting in a way that only Harry appreciated. “You know I don’t mind.”

“You look nice.”

Liam flushed, rubbing the back of his neck underneath the stiff collar of his burgundy button up. “M’not as used to suits as you are. You look like a bloody Burberry model.”

Harry’s eyes lit up. “Do I? I love Burberry.”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head slightly. “I know. I’m going to get us something to drink.”

“Champagne?”

“Not at all,” Liam said with a stern shake of his head. “You know what happened last time. Also, you’re underage. I don’t care who you are.”

Harry pouted. “Could I persuade you with—“ Someone walking behind him, nudging him out of the way, cut him off. Harry looked over his shoulder with a frown. “Excuse me?”

The boy smiled, blue eyes bright. “Sorry, mate,” he mumbled, Irish accent thick and standing out amongst the posh voices around him.

Harry narrowed his eyes.

“Lovely party, Mr. Styles. Cheers,” he said, lifting a pint towards Harry before ducking out of the way and disappearing into the crowd.

“Odd,” Harry said. “Where was I?”

Liam grinned. “You were going to attempt to persuade me with something sexual in order to get a glass of champagne.”

“So it was working?” Harry asked cheekily.

“Not at all,” Liam corrected. 

Harry sighed. “Being in the spotlight sucks. I can’t even get a glass of bloody champagne. I’m _almost_ eighteen, you know.”

“In six months, yes, but for now, you’ll stick with water.” 

“If you thought you were getting a blowjob in the loo, you’re wrong—not anymore,” Harry told him.

Liam just smiled.

 

+

 

_”We’re never gon’ get him ‘way from his bloody bodyguard.”_

_“It’s alright, Ni, we’ll figure it—Holy **shit.** That’s his bodyguard?”_

_“Lou, don’t—“_

_“No, I could distract him for us—“_

_“Absolutely not.”_

Zayn rolled his eyes as he listened to Niall and Louis bitter about during the party. He wasn’t exactly thrilled at hearing their commentary, and Louis seemed incredibly more interested in dictating his every move just to annoy Zayn. “I don’t bloody care what his bodyguard looks like,” Zayn snapped. “Get Harry alone.”

_”S’not gon’ happen, mate. He’s following Harry around like a lost puppy.”_

_“That’s his job, Lou.”_

_“Shh! We have to use code names.”_

_“I’m not using a bloody code name!”_

Zayn sighed, running a hand over his face, and he glanced down at the dashboard of his car to check the time. It was five past seven; Niall and Louis were cutting it quite close, if they were sticking to the plan. Zayn liked the plan, the plan made sense, even if he was more than a little bored and a lot anxious waiting in a nondescript black Range Rover behind The Savoy. Or, well, more appropriately, in an alleyway where he could easily see the back door where Niall and Louis would, theoretically, be exiting when (or if) they actually followed through with the plan. 

_”Did you see the guy in the pinstripe suit, Ni?”_

_“Lou, I swear to God, I’m going to stab you.”_

_“It was horrible—“_

_“Lou, where did Harry go?”_

_“Oh, he… Do you see him?”_

_“No, you wanker, that’s why I’m asking you—“_

Zayn rolled his eyes while he listened to Niall and Louis bicker. It wasn’t the first time that evening that they had let Harry slip out of their sight. It didn’t worry Zayn, not really, because Niall and Louis were _good;_ they knew what they were doing, and Zayn trusted them implicitly. He heard a door slam shut and his head snapped up, heart racing when he saw Harry and his bodyguard stepping outside of the hotel. Zayn groaned, a dull ache in his temple starting to throb when he realized that Niall and Louis were still arguing. 

“Shut up, both of you. They’re out back. Meet me there in thirty seconds,” he ordered before shutting off the car and shoving the keys in his pocket. He got out of the car slowly, tugging his black beanie a little further over his ears. He was probably about ten meters away, and he thanked whatever higher being there might’ve been for his foresight in parking just far enough away to not seem suspicious, and he waited. 

“Hurry up, Harry, we’ve got to get back inside.”

“Liam, calm down. We have time,” Harry told him softly, reaching into the pocket of his suit. 

Liam sighed. “We shouldn’t be out here. You know the rules.”

Harry smiled up at him and leaned in quickly, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I take back what I said about the blowjob in the loo, yeah?”

Zayn’s eyebrow quirked upwards and he held in a laugh. The kid was something else.

Liam flushed. “You can’t blow me to make me forget about my rules, Harry.”

“Sure about that?” he asked with a cheeky grin, laughing in success as he pulled a spliff from his pocket. “Perfect. Got a light?”

“No,” Liam told him with a frown, reaching for the spliff. “And you’re not smoking this before the event. Absolutely not.”

Harry pouted. “C’mon, Li, I’m _bored._ Tell me you have a light. You always do.”

“I don’t—“

Zayn took a step forward, reaching into his pocket for his lighter. “Need a light?” he asked calmly, as calmly as he could. 

Liam instantly took a step in front of Harry, blocking him from Zayn. “Who are you?”

Zayn smiled. “Just snuck out for a smoke before my shift in the kitchen, mate,” he told him easily. “Heard the kid needed a light—“

“He’s not a kid,” Liam interrupted. “He’s—“

Harry pinched Liam’s side. “Li.”

Liam eyed Zayn curiously. “Alright, just…keep your distance.”

Zayn raised his eyebrows. “I was just gonna let him borrow my lighter,” he said, looking down at his hand where he was still clutching his small lighter. “Yeah?”

Liam reached out slowly, swiping the item from Zayn before handing it behind it back to Harry. He carefully took a step to the side, still keeping an eye on Zayn.

“Thanks, mate,” Harry said, lighting up and taking a slow drag.

“Be careful. Your asthma—“

Harry rolled his eyes as he blew the smoke out of the corner of his mouth. “I’ll be fine, Li,” he told him with a soft smile. “Here.”

Zayn caught the lighter that Harry tossed towards him instantly, shoving it into his pocket. He watched him for a moment, eyes flickering behind him only when he saw Louis and Niall slip out the door. “You look bored,” Zayn commented, taking a step closer to Harry. 

“Yeah,” Harry said with a laugh, taking another drag from his spliff. “Not a fan of big events.”

Zayn sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. “You need a vacation, mate. M’sure you could use one.”

Liam took a step towards Zayn. “Thank you for your assistance. You should probably get inside before your shift starts,” he suggested.

Zayn glanced behind Harry and made eye contact with Louis, who just nodded. He saw Louis’ hand disappear into his pocket, and he looked back up at Liam. “You’ve got this whole bad-ass thing down to a T, don’t ya, mate?” he asked, gesturing towards Liam’s stance and broad shoulders, trying to block Harry from his sight.

Liam frowned. “What—?”

“You’re lucky you’re fit, because you’re not that intimidating.”

Harry choked on a laugh, shaking his head. “He’s kind of right, Li. You’re like an adorable puppy.”

“A puppy that has been trained to kill with his bare hands,” Liam corrected with a pout directed towards Harry. 

Zayn reached out for Liam’s arm, tugging him closer, fingers digging tightly into his arm. Liam tried to turn towards Harry, but Zayn’s grip was too strong—he might’ve been scrawny, but he was definitely stronger than he looked. “What else can you do with your bare hands?” he asked quietly, but he didn’t give Liam a chance to respond before he was leaning up on the balls of his feet and pressing their lips together. He felt Liam gasp against him and he made eye contact with Niall, who had an expression of irritation and pride on his face. 

Louis acted quickly, pulling the knife from his pocket as he wrapped his arms around Harry’s shoulders, pressing the cool blade against the column of his throat. “Make a sound, and you die, got it?” he said softly.

“Li—“

“Shut it,” Louis snapped, pressing the blade closer, “and don’t struggle. Wouldn’t want to damage the goods, yeah?”

Harry swallowed. 

“Walk with me,” Louis instructed, forcing him to walk backwards.

“No.”

Niall rolled his eyes and pulled his gun from the waistband of his trousers, leveling it at Harry’s face. “How ‘bout now?”

Harry gulped, eyes wide, and he nodded. 

Zayn gripped Liam’s bicep tightly as the man pulled away. “Now you’ve done it,” he muttered.

Liam jerked away, fighting against the grip Zayn had on his arm, his eyes widening when they fell on Harry. “Harry—“ he froze and turned to Zayn, narrowing his eyes. “You—“

Zayn reached into his pocket, pulling out his knife quickly and burying it deep in Liam’s stomach as he moved forward.

“Liam!” Harry screamed.

Niall sighed and pulled his fist back, punching Harry in the stomach, effectively shutting him up

“Let him go,” Liam coughed out, his eyes squeezed shut as Zayn pushed him against the back of the hotel. “Please, I’ll give you whatever you want—“

“Now, now, manners will get you nowhere,” Zayn told him, twisting the knife until Liam sunk to his knees. Zayn reached into his pocket with his other hand, grabbing his keys and throwing them at Niall. “Put him in the car.”

Niall nodded and ran towards the car, appearing at their side almost instantly. 

Louis practically dragged Harry towards the car, opening the back door and shoving him against the seat. “Get in. You don’t want my help on this one, trust me.”

“No,” Harry protested weakly, his voice rough as he coughed again. “Liam—“

Louis pushed him down, Harry’s knees knocking against the frame of the car. “Get in,” he repeated, “or I have my mate here shoot your little body guard.”

“Don’t hurt him, please,” Harry whispered.

“Then get in the car,” he snapped. “Christ, I don’t have all day, here.”

Zayn looked over his shoulder as Louis slammed the door shut and Niall peered out the window. He glanced back down at Liam, twisting the knife deeper into his stomach.

“Please—Don’t—“ Liam sputtered, coughing. 

“Don’t speak, just listen,” Zayn told him quietly. “You did a great job. You were very brave. But you’re going to sit here and bleed out while I take Harry from you, yeah?”

“You little—“

“Shh,” Zayn said, pressing his index finger against Liam’s lips. “Now, if I know anatomy as well as I think I do, I haven’t pierced any vital organs. I can easily change that if you want to keep talking. Do you?”

Liam frowned, his hands shaking. He wanted to reach out, do something, but he couldn’t. The ache in his stomach was taking over his entire body and keeping his eyes open was a struggle that he knew he was about to lose. 

“Good lad,” he said. Zayn readjusted until he was straddling Liam’s lap, reaching into his back pocket for the slip of paper he had shoved there earlier. He tucked it into the breast pocket of Liam’s button-up shirt, patting it softly. “After you call for help, you’ll pass out within a minute, if you’re lucky. You’re a fighter, so it might take a little bit longer for you. After you wake up in hospital, the dear old Robin will approach you and ask about this little note, yeah? And you can tell him you tried. You tried so hard to protect little Harry Styles, but you just couldn’t do it, yeah? Now, now, don’t be too hard on yourself, you’ll find us eventually. Just make sure he gets this note, okay?”

“You made…one mistake,” Liam sputtered out.

Zayn pursed his lips and shook his head slowly. “Don’t think I did.”

“Not a good disguise, mate,” Liam told him, his breath catching as he tried to laugh. “I know who you work for. I know all about Paul and the precious little bitch boy he uses—“

Zayn grinned and used his left hand to slap Liam’s cheek roughly, shutting him up. “I’m not his bitch.”

Liam glared up at him. “Sure about that?”

Zayn grinned and he slowly pulled the knife from Liam’s body, wiping the excess blood off on the expensive fabric of his suit. “I’m glad you recognize me. That was the plan,” he told him, tucking the knife back into the waistband of his jeans. He leaned in and brushed his lips quickly against Liam’s. “Good lad. See you soon. Oh, and tell your dear Robin that the Maliks send their love,” he added with a grin. He climbed off of Liam and ran over to the car, jumping in the passenger’s side as Niall took off. He knew it was foolish, wasting so much time on his little speech, but it had to be done. He sucked in a deep breath as Niall sped off down the road, glancing over his shoulder at Louis, who still had his knife against Harry’s throat. 

“Where’s the rope? The little fucker is fidgeting and it’s annoying me,” Louis muttered.

Zayn rolled his eyes.

“And shouldn’t we blindfold him? He can see us.”

“I’m not trying to hide, Lou. You know the plan.”

“Code names!” Louis shouted. “Don’t you wankers understand that term?”

Niall laughed, shaking his head. “There’s rope in the back, Louis.”

“Cheers,” Louis muttered, shoving his knife into his pocket before reaching into the back. He pulled out a length of rope and tied it around Harry’s wrists, pinning them behind his back. 

“Where are you taking me?” Harry asked quietly. “Or am I still not allowed to talk?”

“We’re taking you—“

“Shut up, Niall,” Zayn said, reaching over and punching his arm. 

“What do you want with me?”

“Shut up, Harry,” Zayn told him.

“What—“

Zayn leaned over the back of the seat, grabbing the front of Harry’s shirt and dragging him forward. “Shut up,” he repeated slowly. “You don’t get to ask questions.”

“You kidnap me and I’m not allowed to—“

Zayn sighed and, okay, it was dramatic, but—whatever. He pulled his arm back, his fist connecting with Harry’s face with a bit more force than he intended. But it had the right effect, essentially knocking him out, but mainly rendering him speechless. He winced and shook his hand, his knuckles throbbing. “Fuck.”

Louis leaned back against the seat. “That was a bit much. Too dramatic even for my liking,” he commented.

Zayn glared at him. “Shut up, Louis.”

Louis grinned at him. “Love you, too, Zayn.”

 

+

 

Zayn had almost drowned once. It wasn’t a fun story, nor was it particularly interesting; their old house in Bradford had a large pool and Zayn had an older sister who was incredibly obnoxious. She had pushed him in, knowing he couldn’t swim, into the deep end—eight feet was quite deep to a twelve year old, and Zayn had nearly drowned. Doniya got a stern talking to and was grounded for a month, and Zayn got a fear of the water that he would probably never get over. No matter how many times his grandfather or his baba took him out on the water, he was still terrified; he spent most of his childhood at sea while avoiding open water at all cost—it didn’t even make sense to Zayn, except for the part where it did because it was all that he knew. Yaser, his baba, told him it was his way of facing his fear, but Zayn figured himself more of a coward because he didn’t have the strength to stay away or to tell his baba no. 

His fear of the water was quite funny, actually, since somewhere along the line, he had inherited a boat (or, more accurately, a yacht) from his grandfather when he passed away. He actually inherited a lot from his grandfather, including a rather posh flat in downtown London that he never actually stayed at and a thirst for revenge that would only be satiated by effectively ruining Harry Styles’ life. 

That’s all that he had heard in the ten, fifteen years he had been working with Paul. It wasn’t—It wasn’t the _mafia,_ or whatever—except, it kind of was. It was all business; Paul was all business. And after Paul and his _friends_ had killed Zayn’s baba, Zayn had wanted nothing more than to kill Paul himself, but—

There were _extenuating circumstances,_ in the form of his mother and three sisters. And he wasn’t proud of his choices, not at all; he wasn’t proud of being forced into teaming up with Paul and doing his dirty work. Paul worked for an organization that was hired by the most prestigious and posh businesses around Italy and the rest of the Europe; when there was dirty work that needed to be done, Paul was contacted, and Zayn was thrown into the middle. Because it had never been a secret that Paul hated Zayn, and if he could put the lad in a position where he might be killed, he did. 

Zayn was pretty sure he had been brainwashed at some point, honestly, to blindly follow Paul’s orders. He had always been the rebellious sort, didn’t really listen to authority unless it came from his baba—his baba who was _brilliant,_ really. A neurobiologist, someone who spent all of his years studying science and how to manipulate it, someone who had been trying to work up the connections to start his own business and would have succeeded—if it wasn’t for Robin Twist. Robin, who had been his best mate through university, who had promised to help him invest in the right stocks to make the right money to start the right company, but it was Robin who led him astray, who made Yaser lose everything, who embarrassed Yaser in front of the entire academic and social society—it was Robin who made him a laughing stock.

And so Yaser had turned to Paul, knowing of his connections within the industry, for help. And Zayn didn’t know the full story, no, he was only twelve when he snuck through the little beach house Paul had put them all up in on the outskirts of Italy, under the guise of keeping his family safe but really watching them. And Zayn was only twelve when he overheard Yaser and Paul fighting, arguing over how to get back at Robin, some elaborate plan that Paul didn’t buy into. And Zayn was only twelve when he watched his father die. And he hadn’t seen Paul take the shot, knew he had his other business contacts in there, but Zayn had a _feeling._ He couldn’t trust Paul, even though Zayn’s life was left in his hands more than once. 

From then on—whatever Paul said, Zayn did. It wasn’t just the fear; it wasn’t just the fear of his mother’s and sister’s lives on the line. Somewhere along the line, Zayn had legitimately convinced himself that if he obeyed well enough, if he completed every mission successfully, if he listened to everything Paul said—he would be free to go. Zayn tried not to question Paul, definitely never to his face, but usually found himself questioning his motives. But from that moment on, Paul had raised him to be a silent killer, to obey and follow commands without questioning, and Zayn was _good_ at it. 

But he wanted out. It had been well over ten years, closer to fifteen, and Zayn wanted _out._ His desire to kill Paul had been growing, it never went away, but he knew if he took Paul out while still within the unit, he would never make it out alive. So he had to be careful, he had been saving every penny Paul paid him—which was a lot, he was paid well for his silence and skills—for as long as he could remember. He checked in on his family once a week, even though he rarely went to actually see them—Paul made sure of it; Paul knew that was the one way to keep Zayn in check.

But—one more job. Paul had promised one more job, he had promised this would be the last one. And Zayn knew the bad blood between the Malik’s and Twist’s. He knew what Robin had done to his father. He wanted Robin to suffer in the same way—through humiliation and defeat. But he wanted more—he wanted to see Robin lose _everything._ Because it was Robin’s fault that Yaser turned to Paul, the reason Yaser died. 

And when Zayn had been pulled into the briefing about their plan, taking down Robin, it had been Zayn’s idea to use Harry. After all, there was no quicker way to ruin a man than to ruin his family.

It wasn’t even about Harry Styles, not at all, more like what he represented. At least, that’s what his baba told him. Even though Zayn had never heard Yaser talk about revenge, Zayn knew that’s what he wanted. His baba told him a lot of things, family stories that he had only told Louis and Niall, stories he didn’t have the stomach to ever repeat. And it _wasn’t_ about Harry—it was about his family, it was about the betrayal, and it was about honesty and loyalty, two things the Robin knew nothing about. And his baba made sure that Zayn knew that it was his job, his responsibility, to teach them about it. It was a role that Zayn had been preparing for his entire life. And Harry wasn’t at fault, but he was the one who was going to suffer, like Zayn had been suffering for over a decade.

“If you weren’t so hell bent on this whole revenge thing, you could definitely be a model.”

Zayn startled, turning to face Niall. He took a long drag from the fag that was perched between his lips, blowing the smoke out slowly, and fixing him with a steady stare. “Sorry?”

Niall grinned, leaning against the side of the Range Rover. “Ya heard me. Don’t let it go to your head, though. I’m not into ya like that.”

Zayn rolled his eyes, taking another drag before releasing the smoke into the crisp summer air. “Yeah, let’s get him on so we can leave.”

“Might have to take first shift watching him,” Niall commented. “Think Lou will kill him if they’re left alone.”

“I _will_ kill him, Niall, I swear on your Irish ancestors,” Louis grumbled, opening the door and climbing out. “He’s obnoxious.”

“He’s unconscious,” Zayn deadpanned. “Did you get his mobile?”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. And of course he’s unconscious, thanks to your temper, Malik. I’m not carrying him,” he told him, plucking the fag from Zayn’s lips and sticking it between his own. He opened the boot of the car and pulled out the bags, swinging the straps over his shoulder before nodding towards the boat. 

Zayn opened the passenger’s side door and grabbed the keys to the boat out of the cup holder, tossing them to Niall. “Got it?”

“Got him?”

Zayn nodded. “I can handle it,” he assured him. He reached for Harry’s legs, pulling him across the seat and into a rather complicated fireman carry, evening Harry’s weight across his shoulders. He was tall and lanky, but Zayn wasn’t weak; he kicked the door to the Range Rover shut behind him and made his way to the pier. With Niall’s assistance, he stepped over the side of the boat and carried Harry towards the cushions near the stern of the boat. He carelessly tossed him down, ignoring the soft, pathetic whimper that escaped his lips. “Start the boat,” he instructed Niall with a nod. “Let’s get out of here.”

“What about your car?” Louis asked, sending a sidelong glance to the Range Rover that he knew was only one of the two sources of pride in Zayn’s life—the second being the boat they were currently standing in.

Zayn followed Louis’ eyes and shrugged. “S’not a big deal.”

“They’ll know—“

“I want them to. They have to know it’s me,” he repeated for what felt like the fiftieth time. He didn’t need to hide who he was—Liam already knew, and it wasn’t going to be long until Robin and everyone else knew. Zayn didn’t _care._ It was all about The Big Picture and Zayn’s identity played a big role in that, thanks to Paul. Paul’s plans were always well thought-out, and he wasn’t above using Zayn’s name and family history with Robin to get what he wanted—to get what the Italians wanted.

Niall stayed silent for a moment before clapping Zayn on the shoulder. “Let’s hop to, then. Might want to cover the lad up with a blanket before it gets too cold.”

Zayn sneered. “He doesn’t need a blanket.”

“He might,” Louis grumbled. “Might want to protect that delicate celebrity skin of his.”

Zayn didn’t bother trying to stifle his laughter as he shook his head. “Fair enough,” he muttered. He nodded towards Niall again, who escaped towards the bow of the boat, before climbing downstairs towards the bedroom. He managed to pull out a couple of crocheted Afghans that his mother had made for him, and he forced himself to push the memories aside as he made his way back towards the main level. Louis was already curled against the side of the boat, watching the waves as Niall expertly took them further along the water and into the North Sea. It was mid-August and there was already a slight chill in the air, so Zayn tossed a blanket towards Louis, who wrapped it around himself instantly, and he laid the other across Harry’s unconscious form, tucking in the sides. He sat back against the cushions, digging his pack of fags from his pocket, and lighting one up, blowing the smoke out slowly. 

“It might be too late to ask but,” Louis paused, shrugging the blanket off in order to peel off his suit jacket, balling it up and resting it between the edge of the boat and his head. He tugged the blanket back over his shoulders and fixed Zayn with an even stare. “You sure about this?”

Zayn nodded. “M’sure. You get some rest. I’ll take first watch.”

 

\+ 

 

_”The plan is easy, Zayn. You came up with it after all, didn’t you?” Paul asked._

_Zayn scoffed. “Barely. My plan doesn’t exactly involve getting me killed.”_

_“You’re not going to get killed,” Paul told him, rolling his eyes._

_“No one who’s ever known it was me has ever lived,” Zayn pointed out. “You don’t want Harry to die. You want to use him as leverage. And I’m telling you now, if you send me after the lad to kidnap him, I’m going to kill him.”_

_Paul pursed his lips thoughtfully. “You know the Italians want to be the ones to do that. They have history with Robin.”_

_“So do I,” Zayn sneered. “He’s the reason my father went under and was forced to come to you for revenge. And then you killed him. Unless you forgot about that,” he snapped._

_The corner of Paul’s lips tilted upwards. “Always were a mouthy one, weren’t you?” he asked rhetorically, turning from his desk and walking over to the window, staring out at the sea. “This was your idea. You’ll do it.”_

_“My idea to use Harry, yes,” he agreed, “but not my idea to be the one to do it.”_

_“You’ll do it,” Paul repeated, his tone harsh, and he narrowed his eyes towards Zayn, staring him down. Out of all the men who worked for him, Zayn was the mouthiest and the most trouble, but Paul rather liked that about him._

_Zayn swallowed. “This is the last one, Paul.”_

_“Of course,” Paul agreed carelessly with a wave of his hand. “If you do what I say.”_

_“I—“ Zayn sucked in a deep breath. It was—It was a pretty easy job, as far as his assignments had ever gone. Kidnap socialite Harry Styles from a party, get him to Italy, let the people who were paying Paul (and, subsequently, Zayn) millions of dollars do whatever they wanted with him. It wasn’t personal, that’s all Zayn had ever heard. But it was—It was **Harry Styles,** son of the man who had ruined Zayn’s father’s life, and. Maybe it **was** a little personal. “I’ll kill him.”_

_Paul scoffed, shaking his head. “Always been hot headed.”_

_“Robin should suffer for what he put my family through—“_

_“Yaser put your family through this!” Paul snapped._

_Zayn gritted his teeth, staring Paul down. “Robin is the reason he came to you. My father wanted revenge, and **you** promised it to him. And then you killed him.”_

_“He was becoming a liability.”_

_“He was **not,** you piece of shit!”_

_Paul turned around in an instant, backing Zayn up against the desk, and grabbing him by the throat. “Listen to me, you little shit. I don’t pay you to think for yourself, remember? I pay you to do as I say. I pay you to do jobs. The job **is** to kidnap Harry Styles, bring him back here—easy as. Can you handle it without letting your pathetic little temper get the better of you?” he asked._

_Zayn swallowed best as he could, knowing he could push Paul off with a strategic knee to his bollocks, but Zayn was also a fan of **breathing,** so he wasn’t going to try it. He nodded._

_Paul smiled sweetly and released Zayn’s throat, shoving him aside. “You leave for London tomorrow.”_

_Zayn watched as Paul left, slamming the door behind him, and he reached up to rub at his throat. Oh, he would leave for London, and he would kidnap Harry Styles, as he was told, but—He wasn’t going to answer to Paul forever. It was time to become his own man._

 

+

 

Zayn woke up to sunlight on his face and _laughter._ His eyes shot open and he sat up instantly, hand reaching for the little knife inside of his pocket, and he zoned in on where Louis was standing off to the side of the yacht, arms folded over his chest and a smile on his face as he watched Harry, who was balancing precariously on the edge, clutching to the mast.

“Go ahead and jump, Styles, you won’t survive the swim back to land,” Louis said with a manic grin, sunglasses pulled over his eyes. 

“I know how to swim,” Harry told him, knuckles going white from how hard he was clutching the mast. 

Louis barked out a laugh, glancing over the side of the yacht to where the water was flying by beneath them. “With how Niall steers this, I’m sure we’re hundreds of miles away by now. But, please, by all means, go for it.”

“Stop encouraging him, Louis,” Zayn snapped, standing up and shoving the knife back into his pocket since he was positive he wasn’t going to need it. “How the bloody hell did you get the rope off your wrists?” he asked, glancing down at the length of rope on the floor.

Louis shuffled his feet. “I swear I knotted that bitch—“

“Not good enough,” Harry said quietly. 

“Listen here—“

“Who are you?” Harry interrupted loudly, eyes wide as he swallowed. “Let me go.”

“No can do, mate,” Zayn said calmly, walking over to Louis and resting a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you go take over so Ni can rest, yeah?”

“Can you handle him?”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “Please.”

Louis grinned, glancing back at Harry quickly. “Yeah, alright, s’pose it won’t be too difficult. He’s too much of a Bambi to actually get anywhere,” he decided, patting Zayn’s cheek before ducking off towards the bow of the yacht so Niall could get some rest. 

“M’not a Bambi—I’ll jump, I sw-swear,” Harry stuttered.

“Okay,” Zayn nodded, slowly stepping closer to him until he was right in front of Harry. “Empty your pockets.”

“Kidnap me and then rob me?” Harry scoffed. “Who are you?”

“I’m Zayn. Now empty your pockets,” he instructed.

“I—No.”

Zayn sucked in a deep breath—he could be patient. “Why don’t you step down before you do something stupid,” he suggested.

Harry huffed out a laugh. “I’ll jump,” he repeated.

“By all means,” Zayn said, pointing out towards the sea. “You’ll be dead before you know it. And I don’t plan on killing you until we reach land.”

“You’re—“ Harry paused, swallowing. “You’re going to kill me?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “But not here.”

“Why not? You know if you dump a body in international waters, you can’t be charged anywhere for the crime?” Harry’s eyes widened as he registered what he had said. “Oh, God, I just keep giving you ideas—“

“And reasons to kill you, so why don’t you just shut your bloody mouth?” Zayn snapped, reaching out and grabbing Harry’s arm, catching him off guard and tugging him back down onto the floor.

Harry stumbled, nearly falling, reaching for Zayn’s arm to steady himself. “Oops.”

“Fucking Bambi,” Zayn muttered, shoving Harry off of him before walking over to the side of the boat, opening his bag and pulling out a change of clothes. He turned around and tossed them at Harry, pointing towards the stairs that led down to the cabin. “Go change. The loo is down there. Don’t wake up Niall.”

“I—“

“Go,” Zayn repeated with a snap of his fingers. “I don’t have all day.”

“Got more pressing matters to attend to?” Harry grumbled.

Zayn narrowed his eyes. “Just go.”

 

+

 

It took Liam ages to come to, or what _felt_ like ages; he could hear monitors and beeping around him, could hear hushed voices some yards away. By the time he had opened his eyes, blinking rapidly to adjust from pure darkness to the bright, florescent lighting of the hospital, he could make out a couple of figures near the door, mainly Robin and Anne and his doctor.

“When will he be able to leave?” Robin asked, arms folded across his chest.

“As soon as he feels able,” the doctor replied. “And as soon as he wakes up, we can assess the pain. No vital organs were damaged. Mr. Payne lost a lot of blood, but we were able to give him some transfusions, so as soon as he feels strong enough, he’s free to go.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Anne sighed. “You’re sure nothing was broken or damaged?” she asked.

The doctor nodded. “Yes, ma’am. He’s…quite lucky, actually.”

Liam laughed softly and then winced at the sharp pain shooting through his gut. 

“Liam, you’re awake!” Anne declared, rushing over to his side, covering one of his hands with her own. “Oh, my dear, I am so sorry—“

“Don’t apologize to him,” Robin snapped, stepping up to the other side of the table.

“Mr. Twist, I—I’m so sorry,” Liam said, struggling to sit up straight, sucking in a deep breath and wincing.

“Liam—“

“I’ll find him, I swear it,” he promised through gritted teeth. “I know who took him—“

“Yes, I’m sure. We found the little note they left in your pocket,” Robin grumbled, pulling his mobile out of his pocket and flipping through the screen.

“What did it say?” Liam asked.

“I have professionals working on it. They’ll find him. We’ll have the surveillance videos from outside of the club within the hour. We’ll figure out who it was—“

“Mr. Twist, I _know_ who it was. He said—“

Robin sighed. “I don’t care what he _said,_ Liam,” he snapped. “I care about how this is going to look when it gets out. Do you have any idea how this makes me look, how this makes my _company_ look?”

Liam swallowed, sitting back against the bed. He felt Anne squeeze his hand, and he returned the gesture. “I—I fail to see how your company should be more important than Harry right now,” he said quietly. “That’s your son.”

“Step-son,” Robin corrected. 

“Robin,” Anne gasped, tears welling up in her eyes.

Robin sighed, reaching over to stroke the back of his knuckles across Anne’s cheek. “You know I love him like he’s my own.”

“Then act like it,” Liam told him softly. “What did the note say?”

“Liam—“

“I’m not messing about, Robin,” Liam said as roughly as he could manage; he couldn’t believe that the man he had worked for and with for years was acting like the kidnapping of his step-son was less important than how that would reflect on his business. “I know who took Harry. What did the note say?”

“It didn’t…really _say_ anything,” Anne told him quietly. “It was…some crude graffiti drawing of a laughing face…giving us the finger,” she added.

Liam bit the inside of his cheek. “He said—I recognized him,” he said. “I’m sure of it. He said _the Maliks send their love._ What did—How do you know the Malik family?”

Robin froze, shoving his mobile back into his pocket. “I’m going to go talk to the Detective—“

“Robin—“

“How do you know the Malik family?” Liam repeated loudly as Robin tried to make his way towards the door. 

“That is none of your business,” Robin whispered.

“It’s my business when my best friend has been kidnapped,” Liam told him. “I know I should’ve done more, and I tried, I _did._ But if you’re keeping information from me, then how am I supposed to find him?”

“You’re not. I’ve hired a team of experts—“

Liam shook his head. “I _know_ who it is, Robin! I recognize him. I know whom he works for. He works for this guy, Paul, out of Italy, yeah? Lots of corporations, people like _you,_ hire this lad to do his dirty work. They’re…cleaners, sweepers, whatever you want to call them. They—They do whatever they have to. If you’ve pissed someone off, if that’s why he or she wants Harry, then they’ve got you right where they want you. They’re going to expect you to hire the best. You need someone who can fly under the radar. And that’s—that’s _me,_ ” he told him sincerely. 

Robin stood in the doorway with his hands clenched at his side, hesitating for a moment to catch his breath. “I’ll handle it,” he told him. “I don’t want you anywhere near this, alright? If it hadn’t been for you—“

“Robin, stop blaming the poor lad,” Anne interrupted softly. “I think he feels bad enough, don’t you?”

“Good.”

Liam bit the inside of his cheek as Robin stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Don’t pay attention to him, Liam,” Anne told him. “I know you did what you could, yeah?”

“I’m so sorry,” Liam whispered, sniffling slightly, and he still couldn’t believe that his best friend had been _taken._ “I’ll find him. I swear I will.”

Anne sighed, smoothing Liam’s hair back from his forehead. “Maybe we should let Robin handle it.”

“I can’t do that,” he answered. “Harry’s my—He’s my _friend._ I have to find him.”

 

+

 

_”Do you think it’s a good idea to deliberately go against Paul?” Louis asked quietly as he shoved another change of clothes into the bottom of his black duffel bag._

_Zayn sighed, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “Haven’t made up my mind yet.”_

_Niall pulled Zayn’s bag from his hand and opened it up, flinging his clothes to the side and stuffing a couple of firearms into the bottom. “Can’t believe you’re going to try to kidnap this lad without a gun. You’re mental,” he muttered._

_“I’ve done a lot worse with a lot less,” Zayn said, sitting down on the edge of the bed to watch Niall fiddle with the firearms and some wires, no doubt hooked up to some sort of elaborate communication device that Zayn would probably break in less than a day._

_“Yeah, yeah, we’ve all heard the rumors of you strangling that Polish lad with your necklace,” Niall said dismissively._

_“It was my belt,” Zayn corrected, sending Louis a wink. “And there were two. The second one I strangled with my bare hands.”_

_Louis rolled his eyes and then hesitated for a moment. “Wait, those…are **just** rumors, right?”_

_Zayn shrugged. “What do you think?”_

_“I’d like to think the lad I’m working with isn’t **completely** deranged. Wasn’t one of them your partner?” Louis asked._

_“He got in the way,” Zayn said easily. “He was sleeping with the person we were holding hostage. The only way out was to kill both of them.”_

_Niall’s jaw dropped and he shook his head slowly, repacking Zayn’s clothes haphazardly in the bag. “Note to self, don’t sleep with the hostage if I want to live.”_

_Zayn laughed. “C’mon, lads, I’m not going to kill either of you.”_

_“No, you just want to kill Harry Styles,” Louis added with a sarcastically sweet smile._

_“Yeah, something along those lines,” Zayn shrugged._

_Niall pushed Zayn’s bag away when he was done and reached for his own, picking up one of his firearms and starting to shine it slowly. “Are you going to?”_

_“M’not sure yet,” Zayn said honestly, reaching towards the opposite end of the bed where all of his paperwork was. Paul was a fan of paperwork, details and such—he wasn’t so much about using things electronically; he always argued that it was easier to trace when done electronically, and Zayn would always pull up the literal paper trail left behind but—one didn’t exactly **argue** with Paul. He flipped through the pages, scads of information about Harry Styles and Robin Twist, his company, everything. Within the pages were short little blurbs about Yaser and his career; only a blip within Robin’s timeline, and Zayn felt his stomach twist at that. His baba had such a career ahead of him, could’ve done so much more for himself and for his family, had Robin only given him **the chance.** Instead he had taken what little money Yaser had to invest and made sure he couldn’t get meetings with investors or publicists or agents or **anything.** He had essentially blacklisted Yaser Malik, for no other reason than he **could,** and someone had to pay. _

_“—Harry Styles.”_

_Zayn snapped his head in Louis’ direction, eyebrows knitted together. “What about Harry Styles?” he asked._

_Louis shrugged. “What do the Italians want with him?”_

_“S’not my business to question Paul,” he answered quickly, automatically, routinely. It was the automatic response he gave whenever anyone asked him why he did what he did; he was paid to do a task, not question his orders. But this time—this time was **different.** _

_“Yeah, but m’sure you know something, yeah?” Niall asked._

_“My guess is ransom,” Zayn replied, already bored with the conversation. “They’re in the same industry as Robin. It’s either competitive or financial.”_

_“Don’t they have enough money? People around the world are starving, and these bastards just want more, more, more,” Niall scoffed._

_“People are greedy—that’s nothing new.”_

_“You have such a positive outlook on life, Zayn; truly, I’m impressed,” Louis told him facetiously._

_Zayn laughed, just a little. “Mate, I’ve been doin’ this a long time. I can assure you, ninety-five percent of what I do is motivated by greed or power.”_

_“The other five percent?”_

_“Sex,” Zayn said with a shrug._

_“Have you ever slept with, like, a hostage or whatever?”_

_Zayn laughed again. “I don’t, like, kidnap people for a living, you know,” he told them._

_“Then what **do** you do? Because Paul hasn’t told us shit,” Louis muttered._

_“Kill,” Zayn said easily, looking over at Louis with his lips pursed. “That’s what he pays me for. If he wanted Harry to come back alive, I don’t think he would’ve asked me to do it.”_

_Louis frowned. “So he knows you’re going to kill him?”_

_“He knows I want to. He knows the bad blood between my family and his. Paul is anything but stupid,” he added with a shrug. “It’s just—“_

_“What?” Niall asked._

_“Like, he knows I want to kill Harry,” Zayn started, mindlessly flipping through the paperwork, “but this job feels different, you know? Like, I feel like he’s testing me?”_

_Louis pursed his lips. “Why would he be testing you? He knows you’re loyal to him.”_

_“Does he?” Zayn asked, eyebrows high on his forehead. “I feel like he’s testing my loyalty to him versus my loyalty to my baba.”_

_“That makes sense. Paul’s a devious fucker like that,” Niall grunted. He paused, seeming to realize what he had just said, and froze. “Don’t tell him I said that.”_

_Zayn wasn’t even phased—he had thought, and said, worse on a daily basis. He didn’t bother responding, didn’t have anything to say, and the room fell silent; Niall polished is firearm while Zayn reached for his pack of cigarettes, lighting one up as Louis ripped the paperwork from his hands._

_“Am I allowed to sleep with the hostages?” Louis asked._

_Zayn rolled his eyes._

_“No, I mean,” Louis paused, holding up the picture of Harry Styles from some event the year before, some awards show where he went with whatever model was the new **It Girl,** decked out in Burberry or YSL, he wasn’t sure, and shrugged. “He’s kind of cute.”_

_“We’re not sleeping with the hostage,” Zayn snapped, ripping the paper out of Louis’ hand and shoving it back into his folder, stuffing it into his duffel bag. “And we’re not going to call him The Hostage.”_

_“So you’re not even a little bit tempted?” Louis asked with a grin. “I mean, those legs…” he trailed off. “Those lips?”_

_Zayn bit the inside of his cheek and shrugged; never in the entire decade plus that he had been working for Paul had he even been tempted to look at any of his jobs in a sexual light. He had slept with a few before, gotten high or drunk with more than a few, only when the job called for it; Zayn was willing to do whatever he had to in order to get the job done and keep Paul happy. And he wasn’t going to let himself get sidetracked or distracted by the pretty little thing—he had a **job** to do, and he didn’t care how attractive Harry Styles was. At the end of the day, the mission wasn’t going to change. _

 

+

 

Harry told himself he wasn’t going to cry—there was no point in crying; tears weren’t going to save his life, tears weren’t going to get him back on land, tears weren’t going to undo Liam getting stabbed, tears weren’t… Tears weren’t going to _help._ He wiped furiously at his eyes, trying to push back the tears, and he peeled off the dirty fabric of his suit that he felt like he had been wearing for days. He folded the clothes as best as he could—not accustomed to actually having to fold his own laundry, how embarrassing—and pulled on the change of clothes that Zayn had thrown at him. 

The jeans were a near perfect fit, the t-shirt a bit too tight, but the hoodie was thick and warm against the slight chill in the air, and he pulled on the same boots he had been wearing. Eyeing his reflection in the mirror, he shook his head; the bags under his eyes were pronounced, the bruising along the side of his face made him look…different, less pristine and perfect, less of the image he had to portray on a daily basis. His eyes were bloodshot, bright and green behind the tears welling up, and his bottom lip had been bitten raw. He turned on the faucet and doused his face with cold water, slapping at the cheek that wasn’t bruised, before the door behind him slammed open and he was pushed closer to the sink.

“Sorry, mate,” the thick Irish brogue broke through the silence, followed by the sound of a zipper.

Harry looked away politely, assuming this was Niall because _who else would it be?_ “I—I can step out? If you want privacy?”

“Nah,” Niall said, finishing his business quickly and pulling his jeans back up. “S’done now. We’re all lads here, yeah?” he said with a bright smile, nudging Harry out of the way of the sink to wash his hands. “I’m Niall, and I promise we’re not as mean as we look.”

Harry scoffed. 

“Well, _I’m_ not. Louis can be a bit of a queen, and his sarcasm gets the best of ‘im sometimes. And Zayn…” he trailed off. “Not sure what to make of him yet; only known him for a few weeks. But his bark is worse than his bite.”

Harry looked down at his feet. “Doesn’t help anything, does it?”

Niall nodded slowly, a little sad for him; Harry seemed like a good kid, but Niall was following orders—that’s it. “No, you’re right,” he agreed. “But if you do what he says, he won’t hurt you. I don’t think,” he added. 

“Shame someone as pretty as him is so mean,” Harry whispered before he could stop himself, and he flushed as soon as he realized what he had said. “I—I didn’t mean—“

Niall interrupted him with a laugh. “Nah, don’t worry; we’ve all thought the same thing. Could be a bloody model, yeah? Those cheekbones?” He shook his head again, pushing the sleeves of his jumper up his forearms. “Could’ve made bank on the runway, in print. M’sure the camera loves him. And m’sure being an assassin wasn’t his first choice—“

“Assassin?!” Harry screeched, gulping, his eyes wide. 

“Yeah,” Niall said easily. “I mean, he…kidnapped you and said he was going to kill you. What did you think he did?”

“I—“ he trailed off. “I don’t know. I thought it was for show?”

Niall sent him an easy smile, reaching out to pat his arm. “You’re in for a ride, kid. Just do what he says, yeah? And don’t piss him off,” he told him, moving to step out of the bathroom when Harry stopped him again.

“I—I feel like I’ve seen him before,” he said quietly.

Niall shrugged. “Maybe—“

“Maybe I’ve just got one of those faces,” Zayn drawled, nudging open the door to the bathroom with a bored look on his face, leaning against the frame and fixing Niall with a look. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” he asked.

Niall sent him a salute and a grin. “Aye, aye, captain.”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“Goodnight, boss,” Niall said, leaning and pressing his lips against Zayn’s unshaven cheek before pushing past him and ducking into the bedroom. 

Zayn turned his eyes onto Harry next, eyeing him up and down. “I see the clothes fit.”

“Yeah, they,” Harry looked down at himself. “The jeans are nice.”

“Louis’ got an eye for measurements, or that’s what he says,” he told him. 

“They’re nice,” Harry repeated.

Zayn nodded slowly. “Are you hungry?”

“Am I allowed to eat?”

Zayn barely smiled. “Yeah, you’re allowed. Gotta fatten you up.”

“Like a lamb to slaughter?” Harry quipped.

Zayn reached for his elbow and pulled him out of the loo, leading him towards the small kitchen on the other side of the boat. “More like a Bambi to slaughter.”

 

+

 

Harry watched Zayn putter around the little kitchen for a couple of minutes, digging through the cupboards and muttering to himself. He shook his head slowly, eyes following the long line of Zayn’s back, and he hadn’t been lying earlier when he said Zayn was pretty, because he _was._ But Harry could compile a list with all of the men he had ever been attracted to, and they were _nothing_ like Zayn—they were tall and broad and pure muscle, exactly like Liam, and Harry didn’t understand why he couldn’t stop staring at Zayn.

(It _wasn’t_ Stockholm syndrome. It wasn’t, for Christ’s sake—it hadn’t even been a _day._ )

But even for all of Zayn’s scrawniness, there was a solid strength to him that Harry couldn’t deny. His shoulders were broad, his waist tapered and hidden beneath the flimsy black fabric of his vest, the ink all along his shoulders, biceps, and forearms visible. His legs were long, accentuated by the chunky combat boots that made an awful scraping sound across the floor with every step. 

“Eat up, Bambi,” Zayn muttered, dropping a plate on the table in front of Harry with a bang.

Harry jolted in the seat, staring up at Zayn from under his eyelashes. “What?”

Zayn rolled his eyes, pointing at the plate. “Eat up. I’ve already had to carry you once. I won’t have you passing out from malnutrition.”

“You’re so selfless,” Harry mumbled, picking up the fork and pushing the eggs around on his plate for a minute. “Zayn?”

“Hmm?”

“These aren’t done,” he said quietly.

Zayn stared down at the pan in his hand before tossing it into the sink. “I’m clearly not a chef,” he said with a shrug. 

“I’m sure culinary skills aren’t essential when you…have the type of job that you have,” Harry told him delicately.

“The type of job I have?” Zayn asked, smiling softly, turning around to lean back against the counter. He folded his arms across his chest and stared Harry down. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Harry swallowed. “Just that— You—You know,” he stuttered with a shrug. “You’re an assassin.”

“What did Niall tell you about me?” he asked.

“I could make something?” Harry offered, standing up quickly and dumping his plate out in the little rubbish bin opposite the table. He wiped his hands off on his thighs and stepped around Zayn to open up the refrigerator and peer in, picking up a carton of eggs. “What would you like me to make? Is it okay if I make something?” he asked as an afterthought, leaning back up to meet Zayn’s eyes. 

Zayn lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “If you must.”

“But…is it _okay_ if I do?” he asked again. “I’m, like, your hostage. Shouldn’t I be, like, tied to a chair and blindfolded or something?”

“Depends,” Zayn said with a ghost of a smile, taking a step closer to Harry and framing him against the refrigerator, unable to help himself—there was something about the way Harry was tripping over his words, and Zayn couldn’t help but want to rile him up just a little bit more. “Are you into that sort of thing?”

Harry stuttered at the seemingly predatory glint in Zayn’s eyes and dropped the carton of eggs, an embarrassing little squeak leaving his lips. “What?”

Zayn’s smile widened as he reached behind Harry to close the refrigerator, hand slipping over his waist, and he dropped to his knees to pick up the carton of eggs. “I said,” he started, staring up at Harry with a grin, “are you into that sort of thing? Being tied to a chair and blindfolded?”

“I—I—I don’t know?” Harry stumbled over his words, and he knew he should take a step back, but there wasn’t anywhere _to go._

Zayn picked up the carton of eggs, thankful that only one had been broken, and he stood up slowly, setting the carton on the counter he knew was to his left thanks to his many years of living on his boat. “Wanna find out?” he asked easily.

“I thought we weren’t allowed to sleep with the hostages,” Louis announced from the doorway of the kitchen, a knowing smile on his face as he caught Zayn’s eyes.

Zayn narrowed his eyes, barely turning to face Louis, and he didn’t even notice his hand had found Harry’s waist until he felt Harry’s fingers pressing against his knuckles. “And we also aren’t allowed to call him The Hostage, remember?”

Louis shrugged.

“What are you doing down here?” Zayn asked.

“Am I interrupting your moment?” Louis mocked.

Zayn scoffed. “Shouldn’t you be steering my multi-million pound yacht?”

Louis pouted. “I heard something crash. I wanted to make sure you were all right. I don’t get paid if you die, remember?”

With a laugh, Zayn nodded. “Oh, I remember,” he promised. “Go steer my yacht.”

“Don’t fuck the hostage,” Louis told him with a grin, “no matter how much he wants to.” With a pointed look to Harry, Louis turned and stormed out of the room. 

Zayn turned back to Harry with a smile. “Where were we?” he asked rhetorically, fingertips curling under the hem of Harry’s shirt to press against his hot skin. “Ah, that’s right—we were talking about tying you to a chair and blindfolding you, weren’t we?”

Harry swallowed and nodded. “Yeah,” he said breathlessly.

“Hmm,” Zayn muttered thoughtfully, eyes trailing down the length of Harry’s body only to see that he was sporting a semi beneath the dark fabric of his jeans, and he looked up to see the apples of Harry’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes wide and dark. “M’not gonna fuck you,” he decided, taking a step back and letting go of Harry’s waist.

Harry stumbled forward a little bit, cheeks flushing an even deeper shade as he reached over towards the counter to steady himself. “Wh—What?” 

“French toast,” Zayn declared, taking a step back and running a hand through his hair. 

“I—“

“Can you make French toast?”

“Yes,” Harry nodded. “I—Do you want me to make you French toast?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Harry sucked in a deep breath. “Okay.”

Zayn took another step back closer to the door and watched as Harry got the rest of the ingredients out of the refrigerator. “I don’t want you to feel like you don’t have a choice,” he said quietly, out of the blue.

Harry turned around slowly, his eyes wide. “What?”

“If I fucked you,” Zayn started, “I would feel like I had taken away your right to say no.”

“I—“

“And I’m not that kind of person. You’re a child—“

“The age of consent is sixteen,” Harry interrupted. “I—I can make my own choices. You wouldn’t be forcing me—“

“You’re my hostage, Harry,” Zayn deadpanned. “One of two things would happen. One, you would sleep with me because you would feel like you had to, otherwise I might, I don’t know, hurt you or put you at risk. I wouldn’t, for the record; I’m not cruel, I’m just doing my job. Or two, you would sleep with me in an effort to get me to let you go or spare your life. And, let’s be honest, babe—you’re probably not that good. So, no, I’m not going to fuck you,” he explained.

“Even if you want to?”

Zayn smiled sadly, reaching out and running his thumb across Harry’s lower lip. “ _Especially_ if I want to.”

Harry nodded slowly as Zayn’s hand fell, taking a step back. He sucked in a deep breath before turning towards the stove and cracking open a couple of eggs before reaching for the bread. “What about option three?”

“There isn’t an option three, Harry.”

“I’m an _adult,_ Zayn,” Harry insisted. “I—I’ve slept with people, alright? I’m not so naïve as to think I could change your mind. I mean, I—I know you have a job, yeah? Just— It could be convenient, yeah? I know you won’t let me go. I’m not stupid enough to try to escape, either. Staying here, doing what you say? That’s in my best interest.”

“And sleeping with me?”

“Could be mutually beneficial,” Harry pointed out, double-checking to make sure the stove was on before he started frying up the bread. “It wouldn’t be a hardship. You know I find you attractive,” he told him with red cheeks, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Do I?” Zayn asked.

Harry shrugged. “I’m sure everyone on the planet would find you attractive,” he mumbled. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I can assure you it doesn’t,” he whispered. 

“I—I mean,” Harry started again before sighing. “It’s just a thought. It doesn’t have to…you know, _mean_ anything.”

“Oh, Harry,” Zayn sighed, shaking his head. “I doubt you’re the type of lad who could have an emotion-free shag.”

“Zayn—“

“This discussion is over,” he told him, his voice steady. “Finish breakfast and take a plate to Louis. I’ll eat after I shower.”

 

+

 

Liam winced as he sat up in bed, the sharp pain in his stomach receding into a dull ache that he was determined to ignore. After all, the doctor said he could leave whenever he felt able, and he felt _able._ He had to; he had to get out of hospital and find Harry, simple as. He slowly climbed out of the bed and started unhooking himself from the IV, causing the monitor to start going off. He ignored it best as he could and walked to the other side of the room, pulling his clothes out of the cupboard. As he suspected, he had barely gotten dressed before a nurse came rushing in.

“Mr. Payne, you’ve not been authorized to leave yet—“

“Then find someone to authorize it,” Liam said easily, looking at her over his shoulder before pulling his shirt on. “I’ve got things to do.”

“Sir—“

“Liam, what on earth are you doing?” Anne asked softly, stepping past the nurse to rest a hand on his shoulder. “You’re not well—“

“I’m fine,” Liam said, wincing as he tugged on his jacket. “I’ve got to find Harry.”

“Robin’s on it—“

“Robin,” Liam interrupted with a grimace, “has no idea what he’s doing. That or he _does_ know and doesn’t want _you_ to know what’s actually going on. I’m sorry, Mrs. Twist—“

“Anne,” she corrected him, like clockwork, smiling softly. 

“He’s my best friend,” he said sadly. “And…I let this happen. But I can find him. I know I can.”

Anne turned towards the nurse. “Could you find a doctor to discharge him, please?”

The nurse nodded stiffly before exiting the room, leaving the two of them alone.

Anne reached for the remote and turned on the television, flicking through the news channels. “Robin hasn’t even alerted the press that Harry’s been taken. He hasn’t told the police, he hasn’t contacted a detective, and he had the surveillance videos from outside the hotel destroyed not even two hours ago. I’m not supposed to know that part,” she added quietly. “I overheard him on the phone.”

Liam frowned. “He hasn’t told anyone? So no one knows Harry’s missing?”

She shook her head. 

“Of course. That would ruin his reputation,” he muttered before wincing slightly. “Sorry—“

“Don’t be,” she insisted. “Just… _Can_ you find him?”

“I know who took him. I—I’d have to call in some favors with people who don’t exactly like me,” he told her with a bit of a laugh. “I…burned some bridges before I came to work with your family. But I can find him.”

“Anything you need, Liam,” she told him. “Anything. Money, I—I don’t know what these people want with my boy,” she admitted, tears welling up in her eyes. 

“Leverage,” he said quietly. “It’s usually leverage or ransom, innit?”

“I’ll pay,” Anne told him, meeting his eyes and brushing her tears away. “Whatever it is, I’ll pay, I don’t care. I need you to find my son.”

“I’ll find him. I promise.”

 

+

 

_Harry whimpered as Zayn rocked into him, his curls fanning out around his head against the soft fabric of the pillowcase. He forced his eyes open as he reached for Zayn’s cheeks, pulling him in for a slow kiss. Zayn’s fingers threaded through Harry’s curls, tilting his head up, tongue slipping into his mouth._

_Zayn dug his fingers into the skin of Harry’s thigh, pushing his leg back closer to his chest as he fucked into him, punching out little whimpers and groans from Harry’s lips._

_“Zayn, I—“ Harry whined, arching his back in a desperate attempt to take more._

_Zayn grinned against Harry’s lips, kissing him quickly, bruising. “Harry—“_

“Oi, wake the fuck up!” Niall grunted, shoving at Zayn’s shoulder roughly.

Zayn woke with a start, heart racing as he sat up straight in bed. “Ni, wh—“

Niall groaned and kicked at Zayn’s leg. “Next time you wanna have a wet dream, don’t have one while you’re spoonin’ me,” he grumbled. “When did ya get in here anyway?”

Zayn sucked in a deep breath, releasing slowly, and he ran a hand over his damp hair. He had popped in for a kip after his shower, needing some time to clear his head after The Kitchen Incident with Harry. “Shit, sorry,” he muttered, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing up. He reached for his clothes, pulling on a fresh pair of jeans over his pants, and a black vest. 

Niall rolled over, pulling the blanket up to his chin, and he smiled up at Zayn. “So how was dream Harry?” he asked with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Shut up,” Zayn snapped, fumbling through the mess on top of his nightstand until he found his headband, pulling it on and pushing his hair out of his face. “Get a shower, get some food. We’ve got to plan stopping in Ireland to pick up some supplies.”

“Ireland—“

“I assume you have people who will help, yeah?” Zayn asked.

Niall nodded. “I know a few people,” he told him with an easy shrug. 

“Good. Get in touch with them by tonight. We need to stop tomorrow,” he told him before exiting the room, shutting the door behind him. He paused for a moment, breathing in deep; he still felt warm, flushed, from the dream, and he could _not_ let this kid fuck with him—he _couldn’t._

 

+

 

“What does this button do?”

“Harold—“

“Harry,” he corrected with an easy smile, “not Harold. What about this lever here?”

“I don’t know.”

“You say that a lot, Lou,” Harry told him.

Louis narrowed his eyes at Harry from behind his sunglasses. “Don’t call me Lou. We’re not friends.”

Harry dimpled over at him, reaching over to press a button in front of Louis. “What about these buttons?”

“I don’t know, Harold,” Louis snapped, slapping his hands away. “Do you want to be the one to tell Zayn you broke his very expensive boat?”

“Yacht,” Harry corrected. “I’ve spent a lot of time on yachts. I don’t go on boats.”

Louis scoffed. “Right, I forgot you were a trust fund baby, a spoiled little brat,” he grumbled. “Don’t expect us to cater to you.”

“I won’t,” he told him with a shrug. “What does—“

“I swear to God, I will shoot you if you do not shut your bloody mouth,” Louis snapped, grabbing Harry’s wrist tightly. “Got it?”

Harry’s eyes widened and he nodded slowly. “You sure you want to do that? Doesn’t Zayn want to be the one to kill me?”

Louis grinned. “I said shoot you, not kill you, Bambi.”

“No one is shooting anyone,” Zayn announced as he stepped into the room, resting a hand on Louis’ shoulder, squeezing tightly. “Right?”

“Then get Bambi out of here. He’s obnoxious,” he grumbled.

“You’ve spent a grand total of thirty minutes with him,” Zayn pointed out.

Louis tilted his head up towards Zayn and frowned. “And yet I know he’s obnoxious. Can you knock him unconscious again? I liked when he was silent.”

Zayn smiled softly, shaking his head, and he turned to Harry. “Go to Niall. He’ll show you were the books are—“

“Books? Am I supposed to be studying?” Harry asked sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest.

Zayn quirked his brow since he had been unprepared for such a response. “Unless you want to spend your days staring at the water and contemplating the meaning of life, I figured you might like to read something,” he replied. 

Harry looked down at his feet. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Zayn said with a nod. “Go find Niall. I’ve got to talk to Louis.”

“So I’m dismissed?” Harry asked with a scoff, muttering under his breath as he stepped out of the room.

Zayn rolled his eyes as he heard a door slam on the other side of the yacht. 

“What did you do?” Louis asked with narrowed eyes.

“Sorry?”

Louis nodded towards the direction that Harry had left. “That,” he reiterated. “He was fine a while ago. What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Zayn said defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Mhmm. Sure. You did something to upset Bambi.”

“Must you keep calling him that?” 

Louis shrugged. “I think he likes it.”

Zayn rolled his eyes. “We’re stopping in Ireland tomorrow. Niall’s contacting his people, and we need supplies.”

“Supplies?”

“Food and the like—Niall will take care of that. I need _you_ to find out what people know,” Zayn told him. “I’ll stay here with Harry.”

“I doubt he’s going to run, you know,” Louis commented. “He’s too far up your ass—“

“He is not,” he interrupted with a glare. “He’s a child. We can’t trust him. I’d have you stay with him but—“

“But he’s obnoxious—“

“But I’ll be recognized. I don’t exactly have many friends out there,” he said with a shrug. “So I need you to do it for me, yeah? Find out what Robin’s put out there, what’s in the media, what’s online. Find out where they’re at, yeah?”

Louis nodded. “Of course.”

“Good,” Zayn said, nudging at the ground with his toe, biting at his lip.

“Something wrong?” Louis asked quietly, not wanting to push Zayn but also wanting to know. “You know, if something _is_ wrong, Niall and I deserve to know. We _are_ your partners, yeah? I mean, we’re all affected here—“

“I shouldn’t be alone with him,” he said quietly, interrupting Louis again. “I—I’ve never not trusted myself around someone before.”

Louis turned closer to him, tilting his head to the side attentively. 

“I just—“ he shook his head. “I just have to deal with it. It’s nothing. Forget I said anything—“

“Zayn,” Louis started before hesitating, “if it’s any consolation, I really don’t think he’s going to go anywhere. He’s a seventeen-year-old kid who has never had any sort of actual freedom. He’s always been in the media; he’s always had rules and a schedule to follow, and here… He’s got a little bit of freedom, you know? He really doesn’t have anyone to answer to. I don’t think he’s going to jeopardize his life to get back to that, either. I mean, you know how teenagers are, you _were_ one—“

“I wasn’t the typical teen, Louis, and you know that,” Zayn grumbled. “I already had a name for myself at seventeen—and for far different reasons than Harry.”

“I know,” he said softly. “And I’m not trying to diminish that at all, I’m really not, but… Teenagers are curious. As long as we show we aren’t an imminent threat—because we aren’t—I think we’ll be fine. I think a part of him is curious. And I think, because of that, he isn’t going to try to run. And a part of him is curious about _you._ That works in our favor,” he explained. 

Zayn nodded slowly, even though he didn’t really see it working in their favor. Honestly, he didn’t see _how_ it was going to work out. He hadn’t accounted for a teenager’s curiosity. And he hadn’t accounted for _this_ teenager and how he was reacting to him. Zayn had never been attracted to one of his jobs—he had never let himself. And then Harry Styles came out of nowhere with his chocolate curls and pretty green eyes and long legs and Zayn was _distracted._ And he couldn’t afford that, he really couldn’t. He had a fucking _job_ to do. 

“We can do this, Zayn,” Louis assured him. “Two weeks on this boat, tops, before we get to Italy and get to Paul. You still have time to decide what you want to do. This really is all up to you.”

“I know,” he whispered. 

“You can either take matters into your own hands, whatever way you see fit, or turn him over to Paul, like you’re being paid to do, and not think about it anymore,” Louis told him. “The last option being, of course, the best because you get your money, you get your family, and you get out.”

“And what about Harry? What happens to him?”

Louis shrugged. “What happens to him if he stays with you? Are you going to let him live?” he asked seriously.

Zayn frowned. “Why— Why would you ask me that? You know I can’t let him live. You know—“ he trailed off, shaking his head. “You know I can’t do that.”

“So what you’re saying is that he’s going to die either way—either you kill him, or Paul does, or whoever Paul is sending him off to. He’s going to die, yeah?”

“I— Fuck, Louis, I don’t know,” he snapped, running a hand over his face. “I don’t know what Paul’s going to do with the kid. Fuck, you’ve seen him. Knowing Paul and his people, they’ll probably toss him around, share him, mess about with him, and I— God, Paul and his people are sick, and you know it. I don’t trust the lot of them. How do I even know he’ll get to where he’s going without being, like, raped and beaten? I might be a piece of shit, I might be an asshole, I might be a fucking killer, but I’ve _never_ done that, Louis, and I can’t say the same for Paul.”

Louis frowned. “You sound like you’ve first hand knowledge of that.”

Zayn wiped at his nose, shrugging it off. “I—How do you think I know, Louis?” he asked sadly.

“Zayn—“

“It’s—I’m fine, yeah? I let my anger fuel me for years. For over ten years, I’ve used my anger to my advantage,” he explained. “Harry—What if he isn’t that strong?”

“Maybe he’s better off with you,” Louis decided after a minute, picking at a loose thread on his jeans.

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Maybe you should start thinking about _why_ you feel the need to kill him,” he suggested. “Maybe you should start thinking about why Harry has to bear the brunt of your revenge instead of his father or instead of, God forbid, Paul.”

Zayn pursed his lips, clenching his fists at his side. “Do you remember what I made you and Niall promise me before coming out on this mission?” he asked quietly.

Louis sighed. “Yeah, Z. I remember.”

“What was it?”

“I _said_ I remember,” Louis repeated.

“What was it?” Zayn snapped.

Louis rolled his eyes. “We promised to not question you.”

“And what are you doing right now?”

“Pointing out flaws in your argument that you don’t want to hear,” Louis told him snidely. “And I’m not going to apologize for it. You wouldn’t be so upset if it wasn’t true, and you know it.”

Zayn opened his mouth to say something, but he stopped, because there wasn’t anything _to_ say. Instead, he shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “Just… Get us to Ireland, yeah?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

 

+

 

Zayn was halfway through one of his favorite novels (nothing quite as cliché or misogynistic as Bukowski or as boring as Defoe but as witty and heart-wrenching as Alexie could be) when he heard Harry’s joyous cry of “land! sweet land!” and footsteps running up the little staircase up to the deck. Harry ran past Zayn to the other side of the boat, smiling, resting his chin on his palm. 

“Don’t know why you’re so excited,” Zayn muttered, flipping to another page before fixing Harry with a look. “Where did you get that headband?”

Harry turned to look at Zayn over his shoulder and frowned. “I’m allowed to be excited when I haven’t seen land in weeks—“

“Days,” he corrected. “It’s been two days.

“ _Weeks,_ ” Harry lamented dramatically. “And it’s yours, I know. I needed something since I don’t have the right product to tame my curls. You couldn’t have at least, you know, given me notice that you were kidnapping me so I could pack a bag? I’m useless without my hair product and toothpaste.”

“We have toothpaste.”

Harry frowned. “It’s not the right one,” he told him. 

“When did you get so spoiled?” Zayn mumbled, focusing back on his novel.

“According to you and Louis, who constantly call me a spoiled trust-fund baby, always,” Harry said quietly. “Might as well act the part.”

Zayn rested the book open and flat on his chest, scratching at his head before turning to face Harry again. “Hmm.”

“Anyway, when do we get to go on land? We’re in Ireland, right? I’ve never been here, but I’ve heard it’s nice—“

“We’re not going on land,” Zayn interrupted.

“Wh—Why not?” Harry asked with wide eyes, crossing over to the other side of the boat and sitting down next to Zayn’s head. “I’ve been behaving.”

Zayn scoffed and sat up, dog-earing the page of the novel he was in, and turned towards Harry, resting his forearm on the edge of the boat behind Harry’s back. “Behaving? Is that what you call consistently annoying Louis when he’s steering or drawing dicks on Niall’s face when he’s sleeping?”

“Yes,” Harry said with a soft smile. “At least I didn’t draw boobs?”

“Did you _honestly_ think I was going to let you on land? You do realize we’ve kidnapped you, right? We’re not mates, this isn’t a holiday,” Zayn told him sharply. “Why on _earth_ would you think I would let you out of my sight in a country that’s probably looking for you to save and for me to kill?”

“I—“ Harry trailed off sadly. “So I’m not going on land?”

“Neither of us are,” Zayn informed him. “So go below deck and get comfortable. We’re not to be in eyesight when we dock, got it?”

“But—“

“Don’t question me, Harry,” he interrupted. “Go.”

 

+

 

Niall slid onto an empty barstool, signaling to the barkeep for a pint, and he waited. It didn’t take long before a familiar body sat next to him, a little key being slid across the bar. 

“Everything you’ll need is in there.”

Niall smiled and glanced over. “Thanks, Bressie. Appreciate it.”

Bressie nodded, ordering a pint and nodding his thanks, taking a long drink. “What’s got you all the way home? Thought you’d been in Italy.”

“New job,” Niall shrugged. “Headed back to Italy after this. Just needed to get some stuff.”

“Can’t talk about it? Or won’t?”

Niall bought himself a little bit of time by taking a drink of his pint. “Both. Don’t wanna get you dragged into my shit again, yeah?”

Bressie laughed softly. “Could never help that, could ya? Always draggin’ me into your shit—“

“Bressie—“

“No, m’not complaining,” he said, interrupting Niall with a shrug. “Just— We miss you around here.”

“I’ll be back,” Niall promised. “This job is… I should be coming back soon. How’s Theo?”

Bressie smiled. “Growing like a weed. Asks about his uncle Nialler from time to time.”

Niall looked down at his hands, fiddling with his pint, before shoving it away and reaching for the key. “Gotta go,” he said suddenly, stuffing the key into his pocket. He pulled his jacket back on and went to step away, pausing long enough to reach out and rest his hand against Bressie’s forearm for a moment, only allowing a moment of hesitation before he pulled away. He forced himself to walk out of the dingy little pub, pulling his sunglasses over his eyes, and he started to walk back towards the pier. It wasn’t fair to pull Bressie back into his shit, not again, and he knew that. He made it back to the dock just in time to see Louis jump on, and he joined him not even a minute later. There were two trunks waiting, shoved to the side, courtesy of Bressie, and Niall made his way behind the wheel to join Louis. 

“How’s Bressie?” Louis asked, starting up the boat.

Niall shrugged. “Bressie-like,” he said easily.

“Evasive?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Niall muttered, pushing away from the wall. “M’gonna go find Z,” he announced before leaving the room and making his way towards the bedroom. He reached for the door handle, then paused, opting to knock first; it wasn’t even five seconds later when the door flung open and Zayn stood there, rubbing at his eyes. “Got some supplies on deck,” Niall told him. “We’re leaving dock now.”

“Thanks,” Zayn said sleepily, scratching at the back of his neck. 

“Mind if I kip?” 

“Go for it. If there’s room,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “Kid’s a bloody starfish, takes up the whole fucking bed.”

Niall opened is mouth to respond, but Zayn cut him off.

“Don’t,” he snapped, holding up a hand. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Niall just grinned, shaking his head. “Wasn’t gonna say a word,” he lied, stepping past Zayn and into the little bedroom, kicking off his trainers. 

Zayn rolled his eyes and shut the door behind him, making his way to where Louis was behind the wheel, feet propped up on the counter and a cigarette between his lips. “What did I tell you about smoking on my yacht?” he asked.

Louis glared up at him, lifting his hips off of the chair in order to pull out a smashed pack of fags, tossing them over to Zayn. “Brought enough to share, stop your bitching,” he told him.

“Cheers.” He sank down against the wall, kicking his bare feet out, the bottom of his skinny jeans bunching up around his ankles. 

“Got the information you wanted,” Louis said after a minute, barely glancing down to catch Zayn’s reaction.

Zayn exhaled and let his eyes drift shut, his head falling back against the wall. He didn’t want to talk about it; he didn’t want to _think_ about it. He didn’t want to talk about the long-legged boy who nearly kicked him out of his own bed after he fell asleep on his novel. He didn’t want to think about the sad way Harry whispered an apology, even though he had nothing to be sorry for. And he really didn’t want to think about how his brain was screaming at _him_ to apologize. 

“Zayn?”

“Yeah, m’here,” he said quickly, coughing, stubbing out his cigarette in the little ashtray Louis had handed to him without even realizing it. 

“No one knows he’s missing.”

Zayn froze, looking up at Louis with narrowed eyes. “Sorry?”

Louis nodded slowly. “No one knows he’s missing,” he repeated. “Asked about, all stealth, how you told me. Went into some dingy little café, flirted with this bird to use her laptop, and searched it, yeah? No one has any idea. It’s only been two days but, like, there should be _something,_ yeah?”

“There’s…nothing?”

“It’s weird,” Louis told him. “Those social media sites or whatever, they’re just talking about how he must be on holiday or some sort of sex weekend with a mystery lover,” he snorted. “Young Bambi’s got quite the sex appeal with the younger crowd.”

Zayn studiously ignored that statement and frowned. “It’s almost like Robin doesn’t want anyone to know,” he whispered.

Louis shrugged. “No idea, mate. Just wanted to let you know, yeah?”

 

+

 

Liam wasn’t sure how he remembered the route, but he guessed it was something akin to muscle memory or whatever, and he found the building that he needed as if it were in the middle of plain sight and not hiding in the back of an alley behind a rickety door, a building that looked like it should’ve been condemned and roped off years before, a building that had seen better days. He could hear the loud ruckus coming from up the stairs, and he took them two at a time until he found who he was looking for, seeing her hunched over a computer, her dark hair falling into her face.

“El, how about instead of throwing knives at the bloody wall, you help me with hack?”

“But where’s the fun in that?” Liam interjected, leaning against the doorway with a grin.

Sophia looked up from her laptop, eyes wide behind the glasses Liam knew she didn’t need, and her jaw dropped. “Liam?”

Liam smiled. “Hi, Soph.”

“Well, well, well,” Eleanor cut in with a laugh, tossing one of her knives into the air and catching it before throwing it at the wall without even looking. She had years of practice and Liam wasn’t surprised to see the knife perfectly pierce the chest area of the silhouette hanging on the wall. “If it isn’t dear Payno. How’ve the royals been treating you?” she asked.

Liam rolled his eyes. “Good to see you, too, El.”

Sophia tugged off her glasses, folding them up and setting them next to her laptop. “How have you been?”

“Good,” he told her. “You?”

“Good,” she echoed, clearing her throat when she felt Eleanor’s hand on her shoulder. “Just working.”

“So hacking into people’s private lives for unmentionable individuals for ridiculous sums of money?” Liam asked.

Sophia smiled. “As one does.”

“Now I know you’re not here to catch up with us,” Eleanor said, hip cocked to the side, “so what can we help you with?”

Liam smiled, a little guilty, and he nodded. “Yeah, I need your help,” he told them, pushing away from the wall and walking over to the dingy little desk; he was never sure why Sophia and Eleanor insisted on working out a run down building, but he knew better than to question them. Sophia had explained one time, not that Liam had really been paying attention, something about IP addresses and wires and routers and—whatever, Liam didn’t know and didn’t _care._

“Mm, figured as much,” Eleanor mumbled. “Your fancy boy giving you trouble?”

Liam rolled his eyes.

“Are you actually fucking him, or is that just a rumor?” she asked.

“Eleanor!” Sophia gasped, reaching over to slap at her arm. 

“What?” Eleanor laughed. “I’m just curious.”

“It doesn’t matter who you’re sleeping with, Liam—“

“Unless it’s Harry Styles, and then it matters,” Eleanor interrupted.

Sophia rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to answer that—“

“Aren’t you curious, Soph?”

“No,” Sophia said, studiously shaking her head. “What do you need help with?”

“Harry’s been taken,” Liam said quietly.

“Wait, what? No one’s said anything—“

“I know,” Liam interjected, shaking his head. “That’s the problem. He… He was taken right in front of me. The guy stabbed me and—“

“You were _stabbed_?!” Sophia shrieked, standing up and reaching out to grab Liam’s arm. “Are you alright?”

Liam lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Will be,” he promised. “Robin isn’t even looking for him. He had the surveillance videos from outside the hotel destroyed. It had their faces and everything. He hasn’t alerted the media, he hasn’t alerted the police, no one knows. He doesn’t have anyone looking for Harry, and he won’t even talk to Anne about it. He lied to her at first, said he was talking to some Detective, but he isn’t—she overheard him on the phone. Now I know who did it—“

“Yeah, it was Robin, wasn’t it?” Eleanor asked, sitting down in an empty chair next to Sophia and grabbing her laptop, pressing a few keys.

“I—“ Liam hesitated. “No, it was Malik.”

“Malik?” Sophia paused. “Like, working for Paul, Malik? Like Malik who—“

“Yes, him, living up to the hype, all of it,” Liam interrupted. “Why did you say Robin?” 

Eleanor shrugged. “Seems obvious, doesn’t it? Malik is for hire, just like Paul is. They don’t ask questions—they never have. If Robin hasn’t reported it, if no one knows he’s missing, then it’s for a reason. If he legitimately had no idea what was going on, he would want this solved, he would want Harry found, yeah?” she explained easily, tapping away at the keys. “Want me to hack his computer?”

“I doubt Robin is stupid enough to—“

Eleanor interrupted him with a laugh. “Please, Li, you’re so naïve,” she said fondly. “People, as a whole, are stupid. It doesn’t matter how much money you make, it doesn’t matter who you know—everyone makes stupid mistakes. And I’ll find Robin’s, if you want me to.”

Liam hesitated. “Just…find out what you can,” he suggested, running a hand over his hair. He winced when he felt the wound on his stomach tug a little, and he reached down to rub his fingertips over the thick wad of gauze taped over his stomach. 

“Are you alright, Li? Honestly,” Sophia asked softly.

“Yeah, m’fine,” Liam nodded. “Call me when you find anything out, yeah? I gotta go talk to Anne.”

“Be careful,” Sophia warned. “If it _is_ Robin, then Anne probably has no idea, and she could be at risk, too.”

Liam swallowed, nodding again. “I will. Thank you.”

 

+

 

Zayn wasn’t expecting to see Harry’s retreating back as he stepped out of the room, leaving Louis behind. But there was something off about the slump of Harry’s shoulders, not quite normal from his attempt at making himself smaller, but rather something different. Zayn followed him before he could stop himself, following him up on deck, and watching as Harry sat down near the back of the boat, pulling his knees up towards his chest. 

“Can you leave me alone, please?” Harry asked quietly, wrapping his arms around his knees. 

“What’s wrong?” Zayn asked, ignoring his question entirely. 

Harry scoffed, shaking his head. He wiped furiously at his eyes, couldn’t help the tears welling up. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbled, voice thick with tears, and he sucked in a deep breath. He could feel his hands shaking, could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. 

Zayn nodded and slowly walked over to where Harry was sitting, taking a seat next to him, but he was careful to keep his distance. He tentatively reached out, was going to rest his hand on Harry’s shoulder, but Harry jerked back, scooting across the floor and putting a little more distance between them. Zayn’s hand fell down to his lap, fingers flexing against his thigh. “Are you o—“

“Okay?” Harry interrupted with a laugh, shaking his head. He looked over at Zayn with bloodshot eyes, tears spilling over and falling down his cheeks. “Am I okay? Is that what you were seriously asking me?”

“I—“ 

“You’re a bloody _idiot,_ ” Harry snapped, shoulders shaking with laughter as he rubbed furiously at his cheeks. “You stab my best friend—“

“Bodyguard,” Zayn supplied.

“—and you kidnap me, and you say you’re going to kill me, and— And I don’t know where I am or where I’m going. And you won’t tell me a bloody thing, which shouldn’t even surprise me. And then there’s _you,_ and you say you want to kill me, and I can’t stop thinking about _kissing_ you. What the hell is wrong with me?” Harry groaned.

“I don’t—“

“And then I find out that no one even knows I’m _missing._ Robin hasn’t even told anyone. So, no, I’m not okay. You’ve always called me a spoiled brat, and now I’m sat here crying in front of you, which just makes me feel _wonderful._ I’m crying and no one even gives a shit that I’m gone. So, no, Zayn, I’m not _okay,_ ” he told him, finishing off his rant with a long sigh. He stared at Zayn for a minute before pushing his curls out of his eyes and rubbing at his face again. 

Zayn didn’t say anything for a minute, watching as Harry hung his head again, resting his forehead against his knees. Zayn reached out and rested a hand on Harry’s shoulder, expecting him to flinch away, but he didn’t. He wanted to say something ridiculous like, _I’m sure someone’s looking for you_ or something equally cliché, but— Zayn wasn’t a liar. And he wasn’t one hundred percent sure what it meant, Robin not telling anyone that Harry was gone because he hadn’t been expecting _that,_ but he knew he had to talk to Paul. 

 

+

 

Liam had turned into a cliché, sitting inside of a coffee shop directly across the street from Robin’s office with his sunglasses still on as Anne sat down across from him, carefully sliding over a cup of tea with a shaky smile. “Thank you.”

Anne nodded and fiddled with her watch, unclasping it, tightening it, loosening it, and clasping it again. “He’s going about as if it’s business as usual,” she said quietly. 

“Any changes?”

“No,” she told him sadly. “Have you— Have you found anything out yet?”

Liam looked down at his tea, taking a tentative sip, before finally meeting Anne’s eyes. “You’re…sure that Robin hasn’t said anything? He hasn’t told anyone?”

“I’m sure. Where are you going with this?”

“I just… I was talking with my contacts, yeah? And we worry that his lack of communication could potentially show an ulterior motive…” he trailed off, mainly because he didn’t really _want_ to be the one to tell Anne that he thought her husband was being shady, and also because he didn’t know _how_ to say it.

Anne frowned. “What do you mean?”

Liam sighed and ran a hand over his face. “I know Harry and Robin haven’t always had the best relationship,” he started. “I know things are strained between them. You and I both have been privy to many of their arguments and disagreements. I guess my question is, do you have any reason to believe that Robin would want to hurt Harry?”

Anne’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “Where is this coming from, Liam?”

Liam held his hands up. “I mean no disrespect, Anne, I just—I’m trying to get to the bottom of this. If Robin were innocent, why wouldn’t he go to the police? Why isn’t he looking for Harry?”

“I—“ she trailed off, and covered her mouth with one hand, tears welling up in her eyes. “Oh, my God.”

“I know he wants Harry to take over when he turns eighteen in a couple of months,” Liam told her, “but I also know Harry has no intention of doing so. Do you think that could’ve led to any…resentment or anger on Robin’s part?”

“I—Maybe,” she whispered. “Robin was so hurt when Gemma went off to university, wanting nothing to do with the company, that it sort of fell on Harry’s shoulders. But Harry, he—he’s so young. He wants to be able to have a normal childhood, a normal university experience, and Robin is always trying to condition him to take over, and I know he resents Robin for it. I think—I think that’s why he’s always acting out. He’s a good kid, my Harry.”

“I know he is,” Liam nodded. “He’s not really…built for a leadership position.”

She shook her head sadly. “No, he—he wants to help people. He doesn’t want to control their lives.”

“Has Robin…” he trailed off for a minute, feeling his mobile vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out, swiping it open to see an email from an account he didn’t recognize but a signature he did.

_vannes tomorrow, half-three;_  
naples in a week.  
love h xx 

“Oh my God,” Liam whispered, shoving his mobile back into his pocket. “Anne, does Robin ever mention Italy?” he asked quickly.

“I—“

“I need you to _think,_ ” he told her. “That’s where they’re taking Harry. I’ve no idea how he was able to contact me, but he did. He’s alive. They’re taking him to Italy. Does Robin ever do business in Italy?” he asked.

“In Naples,” she told him. “We—We go there every month. I go shopping and sightseeing while he does business. We always have dinner with his friend, Paul. Why?”

“Son of a bitch,” Liam muttered. “When’s he going back?”

“Next week, Liam, why—“

“Thank you,” he told her, standing up and leaning across the table to press his lips to her forehead. “I’ve got to go find Harry. Be careful around Robin. Don’t let him know that you know _anything,_ yeah?”

“Liam—“

“Don’t go to Naples with him. Fake an illness, make plans with a friend, go on holiday—just _don’t_ go to Naples, okay?”

Anne nodded. “I—Thank you, Liam—“

“Don’t thank me until Harry’s home and safe, yeah?” he told her with a forced smile before making his way out of the café, digging his mobile out of his ear and dialing Sophia’s number.

_”Li—“_

“Do we know people in Vannes?” he asked, cutting her off.

 _”I think Pez is in France for a job,”_ she told him. _”I can make a call. Why?”_

“Harry contacted me,” he started. “They’re going to be docking in Vannes tomorrow at half-three. I imagine they won’t be docked for more than an hour. I need people at every port in Vannes to do a sweep. I need to know whom he’s with. I need to know what boat he’s on. I need to know _everything._ Can you do that?” he asked.

_”I’ll make a call, Li. I’ll make it happen.”_

“Thank you, Soph,” Liam said, breathing a sigh of relief.

 _”Are you going?”_ she asked him.

“No. I have things to take care of here,” he told her. “Then I need a flight directly to Naples.”

_”I’ll have Eleanor make the arrangements. What did you find out?”_

Liam stopped as he looked across the street, watching as Robin climbed into the back of one of his many cars. “That Robin is not to be trusted.”

 

+

 

The connection was terrible, but at least Zayn could clearly see and hear Paul on the other end of the laptop. He wasn’t sure how it was working in the middle of the ocean, Niall had said something about satellites or whatever, Zayn didn’t know—that wasn’t his area of expertise. And he trusted Niall, even when he was rambling about something, so it didn’t really matter. 

_”You’ll be in Italy in a week, right?”_ Paul asked on the other side of the screen.

Zayn nodded, could see the familiar territory of Paul’s office beside him, a part of him ached for _home._ Paul might’ve been the worst parental figure in the world, but he was all Zayn really had after his baba died. His mother and sisters had been shipped off, Zayn rarely got to see them, and so Paul was all he really knew. “Got your people coming in?”

 _”Yes,”_ Paul said with a nod. _“How is he?”_

Zayn shrugged. “As you’d expect,” he told him. “Hey, Paul?”

Paul looked up from his papers with a bored expression. _”Yes?”_

“Why hasn’t Robin told anyone that Harry is missing? He had us on surveillance, and he had a note that I left that pretty much explicitly told him who I was. He had every little piece of evidence that he would need to go to the police. He had my car and license plate, the dock we left from, the information from my yacht—he had _everything._ ”

 _”And?”_ Paul asked.

Zayn shook his head slowly. “I just think it’s a little odd that he hasn’t told anyone. Unless…” he trailed off, pursing his lips.

Paul slammed is folder shut, staring directly into the camera in a way that had Zayn’s hands shaking a little bit. _”What are you implying?”_

“Nothing,” Zayn said quickly. “I just…think it’s odd. I mean, unless he knows somehow that Harry is going to be safe, theoretically, for the foreseeable future—“

_”Zayn—“_

“But then I thought, how would he know that? Why wouldn’t he tell anyone that his son and heir to his millions and his company, something he loves _so_ dearly,” Zayn explained. “But then I started thinking about it—“

_”Zayn—“_

“You’ve known him for years,” he started. “You… You knew all of the drama with my father and with Robin, and you took Robin’s side. You helped ensure that my father would go under, that he would run to you for help, and then you killed him. You manipulated my father, you manipulated me into working for you, and you’ve manipulated my family into thinking you have their best interests at heart—“

 _”Enough of this, Zayn!”_ Paul snapped. 

“—so it isn’t that big of a stretch that Robin would come to you for this, is it? I mean, he fucked over his best friend, why not his son, too? I mean, I’ll admit, I don’t understand why—“

_”Zayn!”_

“But it isn’t exactly surprising,” Zayn finished quietly. “Paul, is Robin the one who hired you to kidnap Harry?”

 _”You’re being ridiculous, Zayn,”_ Paul told him, his voice calm. 

“What are you going to do to him? What you did to me?” he asked softly, swallowing and hoping the tears he could feel pricking at his eyelids didn’t well up and fall. 

_”You’re being—“_

“I’m _not_ being ridiculous,” Zayn snapped. “I know you, I know the people who work for you—“

_”Zayn, you will dock in Naples in one week, and you will bring Harry directly to me. If you don’t, I’ll make this personal—“_

“It’s been personal since you killed my father.”

_”Don’t make me add your mother to that list.”_

Zayn swallowed, finally meeting Paul’s eyes, and he couldn’t stop the couple of tears that fell down his cheeks. “If you lay one finger on her—“

_”Do as I say and I won’t. It’s as simple as that. Bring me Harry, and your mother and sisters will be safe. Understood?”_

Zayn didn’t answer—there wasn’t anything he could say. He snapped the laptop shut, shoving it aside on the little bed, and he folded his hands in front of his body, sucking in a deep breath. He was in the middle of his breathing exercises (self-taught, of course) when the door flung open and Niall shoved Harry inside.

“Code Red. Bambi ran his mouth,” Niall said quickly, shutting the door again.

“Fuck,” Zayn muttered, standing up and walking over to the little closet opposite of the bed. He flung the door open and reached behind the wall, finding the hooks with ease until he was able to fold out another section of the wall, revealing a hidden little alcove, and he reached for Harry’s arm, shoving him in. 

“Zayn—“

“Don’t,” Zayn snapped, pressing Harry back against the wall and joining him in the alcove. It wasn’t a big space, barely enough room for both of them, and Zayn reached behind himself to shut the door, fixing the hooks until the door was completely sealed and they were hidden from plain sight.

“What is this?” Harry whispered.

Zayn glared at him in the dark, even though he knew Harry couldn’t see. “Don’t talk.”

“What’s Code Red?” he asked.

“Shut up,” he hissed, slapping a hand over Harry’s mouth. He could feel the heat from Harry’s body against his in the small little space, barely two inches between their bodies, and it wasn’t _ideal_ by any means, but it was a Code Red. He could feel Harry trying to mumble something beneath his hand, and he glared at him, not that it did any good since it was pitch black within the alcove.

_”I know he’s in here. Where is he?”_

_“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, mate,”_ Niall said loudly, and Zayn was thankful for Niall’s tone, knew he was doing it on purpose so Zayn would know what was going on.

_”The message said you lot would be in Vannes. Now where is he?”_

_“Don’t even know who you’re talkin’ about. S’just me and my mate up top, the mouthy one you’re harrassin’. He don’t like that too much.”_

Harry froze up instantly, confused more than anything; he could practically feel Zayn’s heart thudding in his chest. 

_”Where is Mr. Styles?”_

Harry reached up for Zayn’s wrist, wrapping his fingers around it, and pulling his hand away. “I don’t—“ he whispered.

“Sshh,” Zayn snapped quietly.

_”Don’t even know who this Mr. Styles is, if m’bein honest. What’s he look like?”_

The guy scoffed. _“I will tear your boat limb from limb until I find the kid, mark my words.”_

_“Go for it. You won’t find shit ‘cept for some questionable laundry and an embarrassing lack of groceries.”_

Harry shuffled a little closer to Zayn until their chests were pressed together. He wanted to say something, but knew he couldn’t; he also didn’t know _what_ he could’ve said. Instead his hands found Zayn’s arms, slipping up over his biceps in an almost soothing manner. He half-expected Zayn to push him off, try to shove him away, especially considering they hadn’t been alone together for longer than thirty seconds. He didn’t think it was a trick of the light, considering there was only a tiny sliver near their feet by the door, but it might’ve been all in his head when he swore he could see the whites of Zayn’s eyes, could see the confused look on his face with how close they were.

_”Except for, you know, it’s not actually legal for you to board our boat without any sort of legal documentation explaining why you’re doing so.”_

Zayn heard Niall snort and he had never been more thankful for Louis’ snide tone. But it didn’t help that Zayn felt like he was jumping out of his skin as Harry’s hands moved from his biceps to the side of his neck, fingertips curling against his skin. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—I don’t know what—” Harry whispered, breath ghosting across Zayn’s lips.

Zayn clenched his jaw, slapping Harry’s side with the back of his hand, hoping the younger boy would get the bloody message to shut _up._

_”I don’t need any sort of paper to search this piece of shit. I know Harry Styles is on here, and m’not leavin’ ‘til I find ‘im.”_

_“You’re gonna be lookin’ a long time, mate, considering he’s not here,”_ Louis snapped. _“But please, feel free.”_

“Zayn—“

“Shut _up,_ Harry,” Zayn snapped, whispered, as best as he could.

“I didn’t—“

_”Mate, maybe it’s best if you just go, yeah? You’ve already searched down here and found nothing. Because we’ve nothing to hide—“_

_“I’ll find him, you little shit—“_

“So sorry, m’so sorry—“

Zayn rolled his eyes and bit back a groan, because he wanted to remain _hidden,_ and did the only thing he could do—against his better judgment and all—and he covered Harry’s lips with his own, effectively silencing the younger boy and fucking Zayn over in every way at the exact same time.

 

+

 

“What do you _mean_ you didn’t find him?” Liam snapped, his bag of clothes that he had been packing falling off of the bed. He heard Ben sigh on the other end and he winced as he leaned over to pick up his bag, setting it back down. “How did you not find him, Ben?”

_”He wasn’t on any boat there, Liam, I swear. I had my people look everywhere—“_

“Obviously not,” he muttered, “or you would’ve found him. There aren’t that many ports in Vannes.”

_”How do you even know it was him? Malik could’ve found out and went to a different city. Or maybe it wasn’t even Harry who sent it—“_

“It was Harry,” he interrupted with a sigh. “Listen, it doesn’t matter. I’ll find him in Naples. I—I have to. I promised Anne I would.”

_”We’ll find him, Liam.”_

Liam pursed his lips and shrugged. “I gotta get to Italy. I’ve got to find Paul—“

 _”Wait, Higgins? Paul Higgins?”_ Ben interrupted quietly.

“Yeah?”

_”Mate, you didn’t tell me it was Paul. M’out.”_

Liam scoffed, pulling the phone away from his ear long enough to suck in a deep breath. “Are you joking?”

_”It’s Paul—“_

“I bloody know who it is!” Liam snapped. “He has my best mate. If I’m going to find Harry, I have to find Paul or Robin or God only knows what’s going to happen to Harry,” he explained. 

_”Paul isn’t one of those people that you can just…find, Liam.”_

Liam swallowed. “I know. But I—I have to.”

 _”You do realize this is a suicide mission, Liam?”_ Ben asked with a forced laugh. _”Paul isn’t just going to tell you where he is. And I doubt Robin will either. Paul will kill you if you get in his way. He’s done it before.”_

Liam didn’t respond, mainly because there wasn’t anything to say, and he didn’t really _know_ anything about Paul. He had heard the rumors, of course, but he didn’t have any first-hand knowledge. 

_”You do know why Malik works for Paul, right?”_ he asked him.

“I—I mean, I’ve heard the rumors,” he told him quietly. “Why does anyone work for Paul? They’re mental—“

 _”Paul killed Malik’s father, right in front of him,”_ Ben said quietly. _”He’s been controlling him his entire life. The kid is brain-washed.”_

“He’s twenty-five, Ben, he’s hardly a kid,” Liam snapped. “And I don’t care, okay? Malik bloody _stabbed_ me and ran off with Harry and—I don’t know what’s going to happen to Harry, okay? I don’t know if Paul wants him, or if he’s going to turn him over to Robin, or if he’s even _alive_ at this point.”

_”Whatever he’s doing, I can assure you that he doesn’t have a choice—“_

“Yes, he does,” Liam interrupted. “We all do.”

 

+

 

Zayn had never had the opportunity to really get in touch with his feelings; he was the master of” avoidance, thanks to Paul. And that had never really bothered him before; he was used to putting emotion aside in order to get the job done. It was something that Paul had always said made him proud, the way Zayn didn’t get cloudy with little things such as morals and right and wrong—he did what he was told, he didn’t question it, and he didn’t dwell on it. He really only knew loyalty, loyalty to his family and to Paul; he had never wasted his time with something like love, only used it, manipulated it, when he had to, when the job called for it. There was something that welled up in the pit of his stomach whenever he thought about it, something that made him want to run, something confusing and complicated, something that made it so much easier to avoid it entirely. 

But Harry Styles was unavoidable. 

“Zayn, you can’t avoid me forever!” Harry shouted, a pout following soon after, as he followed Zayn around the small confines of the boat. He had already circled around the kitchen twice, even following Zayn into the bathroom, all around the deck, all while the older man refused to acknowledge his existence. 

Zayn clenched his jaw, refusing to comment, as he ignored Harry and followed Louis into the little room, stopping by him and pointing at the GPS. “How long until we’re out of sight of land?”

“Should be soon. We’ll be in Italy in a couple of days—“

“Zayn—“

“Good,” Zayn said, cutting Harry off and meeting Louis’ eyes. “Who was it? I didn’t recognize their voices.”

“Yeah, you were a little preoccupied—“ Harry tried before being cut off again, this time by Louis.

“Not sure. Think they have something to do with Bambi’s little fuck up?”

Harry frowned. “I didn’t—“

“You _did,_ actually,” Louis said with a sneer. “We’re not fucking stupid, Harry, we know you contacted your little fuckbuddy body guard, alright? We could’ve been killed—“

“You lot want to kill me!” Harry protested.

“Technically, only Zayn does,” Louis said before pausing. “And me, right now.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “I don’t _care._ Zayn—“

“Stay the course, yeah? Just… Keep doing what you’re doing. I gotta talk to Niall about what’s going to happen when we get to Italy—“

“Zayn Malik, stop bloody ignoring me, you bloody idiot!” Harry snapped.

Louis’ eyes widened and he smiled, just a little, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at Harry. He couldn’t help but feel just a little impressed—just a _little._

Zayn sucked in a deep breath, eyes drifting shut momentarily, and he looked down at his boots.

“You don’t get to kiss me and walk away,” Harry said, the harshness behind his tone fading off by the end, replaced with something sad and quiet. 

“You kissed him?!” Louis screeched, reaching out and punching Zayn’s arm. “You bloody idiot!”

“Fuck _off,_ Lou,” Zayn grumbled, finally meeting Harry’s eyes and reaching for his arm. “Shut up,” he told him, digging his fingers into his bicep before walking out of the room and making his way towards the bedroom, dragging Harry behind him. He nudged the door open with his foot to see Niall lounging on the bed, fiddling with the laptop. “Out.”

Niall looked up at him with wide eyes before smiling slowly. “Alright, alright,” he said easily, closing the laptop and standing up. “I can see you two want your space—“

“Niall—“ Zayn nearly growled, eyes narrowed.

Niall laughed, slapping Zayn’s arse as he walked by. “Keep it down in here, yeah?”

Zayn rolled his eyes as Niall shut the door, and he could hear him whistling as he walked away, and he finally let go of Harry’s arm, running his hands over his hair.

“Zayn—“

“I’m not going to kill you.”

 

+

 

_Harry didn’t think twice before wrapping his long arms around Zayn’s neck, and it was almost embarrassing how quickly he melted against him. He could feel Zayn’s fingers digging into his waist, and he wasn’t sure if it was imagining things or not when he felt Zayn pull him closer. He tasted like smoke and salt, from the cigarette Harry knew he had on deck and the salt in the air from the ocean, and—it was **intoxicating.**_

_Harry threaded his fingers through Zayn’s long hair, whimpering slightly when he felt Zayn’s tongue touch his lips, and he didn’t even hesitate. Zayn’s fingers dug sharply into the meat at his waist, and Harry hissed, the sound turning into a pathetic whimper when he felt Zayn pull away._

_“Z—“_

_“Keep **quiet,** ” he snapped before pressing their lips together again, tongue instantly finding Harry’s, moving a hand from his waist to his jaw, thumb stroking over the sensitive skin there._

_Harry’s jaw fell slack as Zayn took control, and he secured his arms around Zayn’s waist tightly just to have something to hold onto. His heart was hammering in his chest, and if Harry could think straight, he would’ve been worried that someone would be able to **hear** it. Harry sighed against Zayn’s lips when he felt Zayn’s fingertips slip under the hem of his shirt, pressing against bare skin and—_

_”Good to go, Z!” Niall announced, pounding a fist on the door._

_Harry jumped in place as he heard a door slide open, a thin sliver of light peeking through just enough to illuminate Zayn’s face, and Harry’s heart was still pounding in his chest as his eyes settled on Zayn’s lips, pink and swollen, and his flushed cheeks. “Zayn—“_

_Zayn cleared his throat and shoved Harry back, not that he could really go **far,** and he slipped out of the little alcove, leaving a confused Harry behind._

 

+

 

“Is there a reason why you’ve been standing in my step-son’s room for the last fifteen minutes, Liam?”

Liam swallowed and felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and he slowly turned around to meet Robin’s eyes. “Just thinking, sir,” he said quietly, hands clenching into fists at his side subconsciously. 

“Hmm,” Robin said with a nod, stepping into Harry’s room and looking around, eyes falling on a framed picture of Harry and Robin on his nightstand. “About?”

“Have you—“ Liam paused, knowing he _shouldn’t_ pursue the matter, shouldn’t rile Robin up, but he _had_ to. “Have you made any progress in your search for Harry?” he asked.

Robin’s brow furrowed, and he tilted his head to the side as he stared at Liam. “Pardon?”

“I mean, you—you _are_ looking for him, aren’t you?” 

Robin smiled, just barely. “I would appreciate it if you asked me for permission before entering Harry’s quarters from here on out. I’m sure his mother—“

“Anne—Mrs. Twist, she said it was alright,” Liam interrupted.

“Hmm, but I did not,” Robin told him with a saccharine sweet smile. 

“I—“

“Let me worry about Harry, while you’re at it, won’t you?” he added, stepping closer to Liam and resting a hand on his shoulder. “After all, that’s my job.”

“But you aren’t looking for him,” Liam sputtered out before he could stop himself.

Robin’s eyebrows shot up his forehead, and he didn’t even blink as he fixed Liam with an even stare. “Oh?”

Liam swallowed. “I don’t understand how you can know who has him, and not be looking for him—“

“And who says I’m not looking for him?”

“I—“

“Do I have to run everything I do by you, Liam?”

“No, but—“

“You’re the hired help. And since the one you’re supposed to be protecting—good job at that, by the way,” he interjected snidely, “—is no longer here, your services are no longer required.”

Liam’s jaw dropped. “But I—“

“You’re dismissed, Mr. Payne,” Robin said resolutely, pulling his mobile out of his pocket and tapping at the keys. 

Liam just stood there for a minute, eyes wide and jaw slack.

Robin glanced up at him after a moment or two, nodding towards the door. “That means you’re dismissed. You can go now—“

“No,” Liam interrupted, shaking his head. “You don’t get to _dismiss_ me. Your son, my _best friend,_ is missing. And you…” he trailed off, sighing. 

“And I _what_?” Robin prompted evenly. 

“And…” Liam ran a hand over his face. sucking in a deep breath. “And I think you had something to do with it.”

 

+

 

“You’re…not going to kill me?” Harry repeated quietly as he watched Zayn pace back and forth across the tiny room. 

“I can’t—I _should,_ honestly,” Zayn grumbled. “You could’ve gotten us all killed today with your little stunt—“

“ _What_ little stunt, Zayn?” Harry asked, not caring if he sounded just a little bit desperate. “I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking about—“

Zayn rolled his eyes. “I had people searching my boat, Harry. This is the only—“ he cut himself off with a shake of his head. “We could’ve gotten caught. We could’ve gotten killed. Well, okay, Niall and I would’ve taken care of them, but that’s not the point…”

“Zayn—“

“I shouldn’t even be having this discussion with you right now,” he said quietly. “You’re my _job._ You’re my mission. And yet, here I am, and I—I can’t stop thinking about kissing you again.”

Harry swallowed, taking a step closer to Zayn, causing the older man to take two steps back. “Zayn, I—“

“Don’t,” Zayn said shakily, holding a hand up to stop Harry. “You told your little bodyguard where he could find us. What were you thinking?” he asked.

“I—I didn’t tell Liam anything, Zayn,” Harry told him steadily. “How could I? I’ve been on this boat the entire time. I’ve barely been left alone.”

Zayn pursed his lips. “Niall let you use his computer—“

“To watch a movie with him. He watched Team America on Netflix. I— You really think that I— Why would I— Why would I do that to you?“

“Because we _kidnapped_ you, you idiot,” Zayn snapped. “ _That’s_ why you would. Just own up to it, yeah? Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not patronizing you!” Harry told him, his voice rising just slightly. “I have no reason to lie to you—“

“You have _every_ reason to lie to me and to try to save your own arse,” Zayn told him, rubbing a hand over his face. “And I was stupid and let my guard down—“

Harry interrupted him with a scoff. “Please. When did you do that?”

Zayn narrowed his eyes towards Harry, taking a step closer to him until he had Harry backed up against the wall. “You—When I—That’s not the _point,_ ” he said, brushing it off. “The point _is_ that you told your little bodyguard—“

“Why would I—“

“You told him where he could find us. I have never gotten close to being caught before, Harry, do you understand that? I’m good at what I do for a reason. And your little slip up—“

“I didn’t slip up!” Harry yelled, pushing at Zayn’s shoulders until he took a step back. “I know you think I contacted Liam or whatever, but I _didn’t._ I’m not lying to you. I didn’t do that. I wouldn’t do that,” he told him, his voice trailing off at the end. “I… How can I prove that to you?”

Zayn sucked in a deep breath, running his hands over his face. “You…” he paused. “Wait, you said you _wouldn’t_ do that,” he muttered, more to himself than anything. “Why? I have kidnapped you, I have threatened you—“

“Yeah, but,” Harry shuffled his feet. “You’re not, like, mean. You haven’t starved me, or been awful to me, or tortured me—well, that one is debatable because you wore that—that black Henley a day or two ago and…” Harry shook his head, trying to force that image out of his head. “You’re not, like, a bad person—“

“I’ve killed people, Harry,” Zayn interrupted softly. “I’m not trying to scare you, I’m just…being honest, yeah? You have no reason to trust me.”

“I don’t,” Harry assured him quickly, not ignoring the little quirk of Zayn’s lips at his insistence. “But, like, I hear you and Niall, you and Louis sometimes. And…the man you’re taking me to, Paul? He— He doesn’t seem nice. And you don’t seem to like him, even though you work for him—“

“Do you eavesdrop often, Harry?”

Harry had the decency to look a little ashamed, lifting one shoulder in an awkward half-shrug, and he looked almost as dejected as he sounded. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “You—You sound like you want to protect me from him. I—I mean, do you?” he asked.

Zayn looked down at his feet, scuffing the toe of his boot across the floor. “I’ve never questioned Paul before. It’s always been just doing the job and getting paid.”

“But,” Harry hesitated, pushing himself off of the wall and stepping closer to Zayn, “you’re questioning him now? Because of me?”

“Because of _everything,_ ” Zayn whispered.

“Is it—Is it weird if I say I trust you? That you’ll—that I really think you’ll do the right thing? And not just because I want to, you know, not die?” Harry asked, reaching out to ghost his fingertips over Zayn’s wrist, across the spread of ink against golden skin.

Zayn jerked his hand back, and he couldn’t bring himself to meet the pained look he knew he would find in Harry’s eyes. “You shouldn’t trust me. This is— This is Stockholm syndrome at its finest, Harry, you’re— You’re seeing what you want to see, because you want to survive, and you’re empathizing with me and making excuses and—“

“I thought Stockholm syndrome was falling in love with your kidnapper?”

“That’s—I mean, it’s a lot more complicated than that, Harry, it’s—“

“Because I’m not, like, in love with you,” Harry said, ignoring the way his cheeks flushed at the insinuation. “Like, you’re—you’re fit, yeah? But, I mean, I’m not—“

“I know,” Zayn interrupted. “You’d have to be daft to— I don’t—“ he sighed. “I’m not going to kill you,” he repeated again, finally meeting Harry’s eyes.

Harry nodded slowly. “Thank you.”

“I— Yeah,” Zayn nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Good.”

“Glad we got that sorted out,” he mumbled. “Kinda felt like we just talked in a huge circle, yeah?”

Zayn forced himself to not smile, to keep that same stoic look on his face that he had spent almost ten years mastering. “Well,” he settled on after a moment, “don’t look too happy. I could still change my mind.” 

 

+

 

“Do you think he’s gonna, like, lock Harry up in the closet or something after today? Blindfold him and such?” Niall asked, pressing a few buttons on the touch-screen by the wheel while Louis lit a cigarette.

Louis shrugged, blowing the smoke out of his nose. “No idea. Little fucker could’ve gotten us all killed,” he told him with a shrug. 

“I still can’t believe he was even able to send out an email. He used my laptop for a total of three seconds and, trust me, I have enough security on there that…” he trailed off and shrugged. “Maybe he’s a computer genius.”

“Is your security _that_ hard to hack?” Louis asked dryly. 

Niall grinned, waggling his eyebrows. “I’m a mastermind, Louis, please—gimme a little credit.”

Louis rolled his eyes, barely sending the Irishman a smile. “Bet I could hack it easily.”

“Yea, ‘cause you’d know what to look for,” Niall shrugged. “He doesn’t.”

“Maybe he did,” Louis told him, taking a drag from his cigarette and flicking the ash, staring out at the ocean. 

 

+

 

_”So what are you asking me to do?”_

_Paul smiled softly, a look that no one would ever get used to, and he folded his hands on the desk in front of his chest. “I’m **telling** you to keep an eye on Zayn.”_

_“But—“_

_“You’re the one who has to make sure Harry is alive when he gets to Italy. Zayn is usually a rational man, but in this instance, he’s going to let his emotions get the better of him. And that’s why you need to keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn’t do anything…rash,” Paul explained, eyes carefully trained on the other man._

_“Why did you even ask Zayn to do this? If you need me to watch him, then how can you trust him?”_

_“I don’t,” Paul shrugged. “It would be foolish of me to trust any of you,” he said simply. “But there is one thing that I trust more than people. Do you know what that is?”_

_He shook his head._

_“Greed. People are greedy. And people are money hungry. You can get someone to do almost anything if you pay them well enough.”_

_“Even betray a friend, apparently,” he mumbled, refusing to meet Paul’s eyes._

_“ **Especially** that,” Paul said with a little laugh. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves—you and Zayn aren’t exactly friends,” he pointed out._

_“We could’ve—“_

_“Are you in or out?” Paul interrupted. “I’m done with the idle chitchat and deep, heartfelt conversations about life, yeah? If you don’t agree, you get half a million, and I won’t guarantee your safety or your family’s safety—“_

_“Paul—“_

_“And you get two million if you do as I say,” he told him, fiddling with the phone in his hand. “You will be safe, your family will be safe. You, uh, have a couple of younger sisters, don’t you?” he asked._

_“Don’t bring them into this,” he warned him, his tone pleading but his eyes defiant._

_“I **own** you,” Paul told him easily. “I’m also making this sound like an offer, but you know it isn’t. What’s it gonna be, Tomlinson?”_

_Louis sighed, his jaw set as he nodded. “I’m in.”_

 

+

 

“Zayn—“

“Go away.”

“Zayn—“

“Go. Away.”

“Zayn,” Harry whined, shaking at Zayn’s shoulder, trying to wake him up. “Can I borrow some joggers?”

Zayn frowned, opening one eye to glare up at Harry where he was perched on the side of the bed. “Is that what you woke me up for?”

Harry smiled and leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to Zayn’s stubble-lined jaw. “And that,” he said with a cheeky little grin. “Now, joggers?”

“Not yet,” Zayn said, sliding his fingers into Harry’s curls and pulling him back in for a kiss. Harry went easily, lips fitting against Zayn’s, his fingertips curling in the sheet to steady himself. Zayn wrapped an arm around Harry’s back and pulled him down, spreading his legs until Harry fit between them perfectly, and he didn’t miss the little sound that left Harry’s lips. Since Zayn had allowed himself to kiss Harry, _really_ kiss Harry hours before that moment, hours after their argument, he couldn’t see himself stopping. 

There was something indescribable about the softness of Harry’s lips or the way he felt pressed against Zayn’s body. And Zayn knew it was stupid, knew it was reckless, but he couldn’t in good conscience turn Harry over to Paul, not when he didn’t know what was going to happen, nor could he hold Harry accountable for the mistakes his father had made. And it hadn’t been an overnight decision—it was still something that was taking Zayn time to process, still something that he didn’t quite understand himself, but… But he felt he had to _protect_ Harry, and that was something that was foreign to him. Zayn had spent years protecting his family, and he hadn’t even recognized what it felt like to want to protect someone else until Harry came along. Zayn slid his hand down Harry’s back, stopping at his bum and pulling him a little bit closer, causing the younger boy to giggle and pull away. 

“Zayn,” Harry whined before clearing his throat, hips instinctively pressing closer to Zayn. “I—Joggers?” he swallowed.

Zayn grinned, leaning back against the bed, fitting an arm behind his head as he stared up at Harry. “What do you want my joggers for?” he asked, sliding his hand down to the back of Harry’s thigh and up again, feeling him shiver.

“You’re just going to make fun of me,” Harry said with a small smile. 

“Yeah,” Zayn agreed, reaching for Harry’s curls and pulling him in for another kiss, biting at his bottom lip until Harry was close to trembling. “Top drawer.”

“Right,” Harry replied slowly, eyes dropping down to Zayn’s lips. “What?”

Zayn laughed and pointed towards the little dresser on the other side of the cabin, bolted to the floor. “Top drawer,” he repeated.

“Right, yeah, of course,” he nodded, pulling away from Zayn and standing up slowly, crossing the room to pull the joggers out of the drawer. He turned back to see Zayn reaching under the blanket to adjust himself with a grin on his face. “You’re awful,” Harry announced as he pushed is curls out of his eyes.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before,” Zayn shrugged, still smiling. “Can I go back to sleep now?”

Harry nodded. “I’ll be…” he trailed off, pointing towards the door. “Just… Yeah.”

 

+

 

“What on Earth are you _doing_?”

Harry took a deep breath, tightening his core as he finally relaxed, rolling over onto his back to peer up at Louis. “Yoga. What does it look like?” he asked, rolling back over and planting his feet on the deck, raising himself into his next pose. 

Louis rolled his eyes. “Could you not take up the whole deck, maybe?”

“Could you not talk, maybe? You’re harshing my mellow,” Harry said calmly, his voice even.

Louis scoffed. “Please, you harshed everyone’s mellow,” he mocked, “when you sent that bloody email to your bodyguard and nearly got us caught.”

Harry frowned, pulling himself into a lunge and reaching his arms out, fixing Louis with a stare. “I didn’t email Liam,” he said simply. 

“You did, actually,” Louis shrugged. “How else would he have known where we were?”

“I didn’t,” Harry replied, “and I don’t need to convince you.”

“Right. Just Zayn,” he supplied. “How’d you manage that one? Or do I not want to know?”

Harry rolled his eyes. 

“Wouldn’t be hard, you know? It’s obvious he wants to fuck you,” Louis told him. “So what did you do? Bat your pretty little eyelashes and get him to believe everything you said?”

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head before changing position again, feeling the stretch in his calves. “I have no reason to contact Liam—“

“Except to escape,” he interrupted.

Harry barked out a laugh. “Really? Because it would be that easy? I’m not stupid, Louis. Did I think about it when I borrowed Niall’s computer? Yeah, but m’not smart enough to break through whatever security he has. And I wouldn’t… I mean, Zayn…” he trailed off and shook his head. “He hasn’t hurt me, or been awful to me, and I—I’m not naïve enough to try something like that, yeah? It’s… It’s not so bad out here,” he added quietly. 

“Niall’s security isn’t _that_ hard to breach; I don’t know why everyone thinks he’s some sort of tech god,” Louis mumbled. 

Harry narrowed his eyes towards Louis. “What?”

Louis shrugged. “Nothing. Thanks for the excitement though, Bambi,” he told him with a tight-lipped smile. 

Harry didn’t bother responding, rather he changed position again, planting his feet and palms flat on the deck, arching his back into downward dog. 

“Louis, can you— Harry? Wh—What are you doing?”

Harry almost smiled— _almost_ —upon hearing the strangled tone to Zayn’s voice, and he tilted his head to the side just in time to catch Zayn’s eyes, to see the older man lick his lips and shake his head. “Yoga,” he told him with a grin. 

“And you…have to do yoga topless? With my joggers?” he asked.

“Yeah, it’s a requirement, actually,” Harry replied, looking back towards the deck and closing his eyes, taking a deep breath. 

Zayn shook his head again. “You’re going to be the bloody death of me,” he muttered, turning on his heel and walking away, completely forgetting about why he was looking for Louis anyway.

 

+

 

Liam didn’t stop staring at the door until he saw Eleanor and Sophia walk through, hand in hand, and—alright, that was _new._ He raised an eyebrow as Sophia pressed her lips to Eleanor’s cheek before heading towards the counter. Eleanor met Liam’s eyes and shrugged, a happy little smile on her face as she made her way over towards his table, sitting down across from him. She tugged her sunglasses off and folded them up, setting them on the table, before leaning back against the chair, eyebrows high on her forehead. 

“Well?” she prompted, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What?” Liam asked, eyes wide and earnest.

“Nothing to say?”

Liam paused. “Should I have something to say?”

Eleanor’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she was still smiling. “Nothing to say about your ex girlfriend being my girlfriend now?”

“No?” Liam questioned, unsure of where she was going with it. “I mean, are you happy?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s all that matters,” Liam told her with a shrug. 

“Good,” Eleanor said slowly, turning when she felt Sophia’s hand brush across her shoulder, and she smiled up at her.

Sophia set two mugs down on the table, sliding one in front of Eleanor before sitting down next to her. “What were we discussing?”

“You,” Eleanor said, smile widening. 

“Ah,” Sophia laughed, “then please continue.”

Liam smiled, rolling his eyes fondly, before reaching across the table for his mug. “Alright, enough of this love fest. Do you have what I need?”

Sophia ignored the beginning of his statement in order to slide a silver key across the table, tapping it with one of her nails. “It’s in a locker at the gym close to our base. There’s only one bag, black duffel, and it has everything that you need. Your flight leaves tomorrow at noon, you’ll be in Italy by the evening. Your hotel is a little building two blocks up the coast from Paul’s warehouse. It’s owned by a woman that grew up with my nan, I know her well, and she’ll keep an eye out. You’re in good hands. _If_ you’re sure this is what you wanna do,” she added wearily. 

Liam picked up the key, sliding it between his fingers, fiddling with it for a moment before he actually met Sophia’s eyes. “I have to,” he told her. “Robin’s no fool. I assume he’s already onto me.”

“Why?” Eleanor asked, her brow furrowed. She had one hand wrapped around the mug and her other wrapped around Sophia’s wrist, rubbing at the skin in a soothing gesture. “What happened?”

“We…” Liam cleared his throat, lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “We got into a bit of an altercation. I was fired, which I expected, since my job is to protect Harry, and Harry…is no longer here. I told him I thought he had something to do with it.”

Eleanor gasped with Sophia scoffed, shaking her head, and muttered, “you’re a bloody idiot.”

Liam held his hands up in defense. “It’s true!”

“You don’t _say_ that to a man who has this much blood on his hands,” Sophia whisper-yelled across the table at him, reaching over and slapping him upside the head with her free hand. 

With a pout, Liam reached up and rubbed at his head. “That was unnecessary.”

“What did he say? What did he _do >_?” Eleanor asked.

He shrugged again and took a sip of his tea. “He smiled, patted my cheek, told me not to get involved with things I don’t understand, and he left.”

“So, obviously, you’re going to get even more involved?” Sophia asked.

Liam nodded, smiling slowly. “Exactly.”

 

+

 

“What did you need earlier?”

Zayn looked up from his book, meeting Louis’ eyes from across the little kitchen. “Sorry?”

Louis rolled his eyes as he walked towards the refrigerator, reaching in for a bottle of beer. He leaned back against the counter, lifting the glass bottle to his lips. “You know,” he started, crossing his arms over his chest, “before you saw Bambi with his arse up, begging to be fucked.”

Zayn felt his cheeks flush a little bit and he narrowed his eyes at Louis before looking back down at his book. “Cheers,” he grumbled. 

Louis grinned. “Well, you clearly wanted something,” he told him.

“Yeah,” Zayn agreed with a shrug, eyes scanning over the page; he kept flipping to a new page but he couldn’t remember anything he had read, wasn’t able to retain anything.

“So what’re you gonna do with Bambi besides snog him senseless?”

Zayn blinked up at him, frowning. “I don’t snog him senseless,” he muttered. 

“I don’t know,” Louis shrugged. “He seemed pretty dazed before his yoga session this morning.”

“Yeah, well,” Zayn sighed, reaching up to rub at his temples. “I don’t know. I think it’s pretty clear we can’t trust Paul,” he admitted.

Louis swallowed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said slowly. He rubbed his hands over his cheeks, over his jaw, before resting his chin in the palm of his hand. “I’ve never… I’ve never not known, you know? It’s always been clear.”

“He’s your mission, Zayn,” Louis told him quietly. “That _is_ clear.”

Zayn shook his head. “But I don’t know what Paul is going to _do_ with him,” he said. “For him, to him, whatever,” he added sadly. 

Louis took another drink of his beer. “I mean, have you ever really known what Paul does with people once you collect them for him?”

“I usually don’t,” Zayn admitted. “Because he normally doesn’t ask me to bring him people alive.”

“So what’s so different about Harry?” Louis asked. 

“I—“

“His father is the reason your father is dead,” he pointed out.

“I—I know,” Zayn said, clearing his throat. 

Louis pursed his lips. “This whole time, you’ve known you were going to kill him, Zayn. You’ve made that clear—to me, to Niall, to _Harry._ What changed?” he asked.

“I don’t—“

“And _don’t,_ ” Louis interrupted, “say something stupid like you fell for the kid.”

“I _didn’t,_ ” Zayn scoffed, rolling his eyes. “He’s just—He’s just that, you know? He’s a _kid._ And weren’t you the one saying that Harry might be better off with me? Why the change of heart?”

“There hasn’t been a change of heart, Zayn. I’m being Devil’s Advocate, all right? And you also know Harry’s age wasn’t a problem before.”

“I _know,_ Louis,” he snapped. “I don’t know what changed, yeah? I mean, he—He’s not the reason my dad is dead, alright? Paul is. Robin is. Harry? He had nothing to do with that.”

Louis scoffed. “He must be pretty good at sucking cock if you’ve completely forgot why he’s here,” he told him. 

Zayn shut his book and slammed it down on the counter. “Watch it, Louis,” he warned him quietly, his voice even and smooth, “before _you_ forget why _you’re_ here. You’re here to do whatever I say, yeah? Isn’t that what Paul told you? You and Niall both are here to help, not to question. Understood?”

The corner of Louis’ lips quirked upwards. “Sure thing, Zayn. Whatever you say.”

“Christ,” Zayn sighed, running his hands through his hair. “I don’t want to fight with you. I’d like to think we’re sort of mates, yeah? In this together?”

“I’m just trying to keep your head on straight,” Louis told him softly. “I don’t want you to lose sight as to why you’re here. And I’m afraid you already have.”

Zayn sucked in a deep breath. “There’s gotta be a way, Louis, to keep Harry safe and away from Paul. And I just— That’s what I have to figure out.”

“So you want to get back at Paul and keep Harry safe?” Louis asked.

“I—I think that’s the only way, yeah,” Zayn whispered. “Harry’s got nothing to do with this—I know that now. Paul is testing me. It’s not about Harry—it’s about me. I have to keep him safe, Louis. I—I know you don’t get it—“

“You’re damn right,” Louis interjected with a scoff. 

Zayn narrowed his eyes, ignoring him. “But I have to keep him safe. He has no part of this. It’s my fault he’s here, and it’s my responsibility to keep him safe.”

“How are you gonna do that?”

“No idea,” he admitted with a laugh. “But I’ll figure it out.”

 

+

 

“So I was thinking…”

Zayn glanced up from his book as Harry walked into the room, a fuzzy towel wrapped around his slim waist and water droplets clinging to his nipples, and swallowed. He could feel his prick twitch a little beneath his joggers at the sight, and he slowly closed his book, marking his spot with a finger, and he met Harry’s eyes. “Yeah?”

Harry’s brow furrowed as he cocked his head to the side. “Are you always reading?”

Zayn looked down at his book and shrugged; there wasn’t much else he _could_ do. There wasn’t a television on the boat, and Niall was pretty much the only one who used the laptop, and Zayn _liked_ to read. He genuinely found joy in the pages, in the way he could escape to a completely different world, even if it was just for a little bit. “Is that what you were thinking about in the shower?” he asked.

“ _No,_ ” Harry insisted with a roll of his eyes. 

Zayn grinned as he watched Harry’s cheeks flush, and he folded down the corner of one of his pages before shutting the book entirely. 

“Zayn! You’re destroying the integrity of the book!” Harry whined, crossing the room to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. He pulled the book out of Zayn’s hands and opened it to the appropriate page, smoothing out the corner, and searching around for a bookmark. “Do you have a piece of paper I can mark this with?”

“No, hence folding the page,” Zayn drawled.

Harry sent him a glare before fumbling around on the nightstand and finding a post-it note, sticking it to the page. He shut the book with a smile, setting it on the nightstand. “See? Was that so hard?”

Zayn laughed softly, eyes crinkling just a little at the edges, and he reached out to brush his fingertips across Harry’s stomach. He felt the younger boy’s muscles clench, just a little bit. “Don’t try to distract me.”

“ _You_ stop trying to distract _me,_ ” he pouted, reaching for Zayn’s hand and shoving it away. He stared down at Zayn’s hand and alternated between lacing their fingers together and fiddling with the rings adorning his fingers. “Anyway, like… We’ll be in Italy soon, yeah?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Zayn agreed softly. “Two days.”

“And you’re… You’re definitely not going to kill me?” he whispered, running his fingertips over the ink on Zayn’s wrist. 

Zayn flipped his hand over and laced his fingers with Harry, squeezing his hand; with his free hand, he reached up and cupped Harry’s jaw, thumb brushing over his lips and forcing the younger boy’s eyes to meet his. “Definitely not.”

Harry smiled softly, chewing on his bottom lip. “So, I guess I was wondering, like… What’s going to happen, you know? Like…when we get there? With…me?” he added, his voice barely audible. 

“Look at me, babe,” Zayn encouraged, meeting his eyes again. “M’gonna keep you safe.”

“You will?”

“Yeah,” he told him with a nod. “I’ll protect you.”

Harry smiled then, genuinely, the dimple in his cheek appearing, and he laughed when Zayn pressed his thumb down against his dimple. “I’m gonna hold you to that,” he teased quietly, reaching in to trail his fingers across Zayn’s stomach where his shirt was riding up, pushing up underneath the fabric. 

Zayn cleared his throat, hips shifting involuntarily. “What’re ya doin?”

Harry shrugged, reaching for the drawstring of Zayn’s joggers and untying it. 

“Wait, babe,” Zayn said, reaching for Harry’s hands. “C’mon, you don’t—“ he cleared his throat again, closing his fingers around Harry’s wrists. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” Harry said, leaning up on his knees to lean forward and press his lips to Zayn’s. “I want to.”

“Harry—“

Harry ignored him, straddling his waist, the knot of the towel at his waist loosening a little bit. “I _know,_ ” Harry insisted, rubbing at Zayn’s length through the fabric of his joggers.

Zayn cursed, stopping Harry’s hands and sucking in a deep breath. “I don’t want you to feel like you don’t have a choice,” he repeated, mirroring his words from weeks before, but the sentiment remained.

“I know,” Harry told him again, shifting their hips together. 

“Harry—“

“M’not an idiot, Zayn,” he interrupted, tone sharp. “M’not naïve enough to think that me sucking you off is going to change anything, yeah? I just—I’m attracted to you, yeah? And you—you’re attracted to me, too, I think, right? And I—I _want_ to,” he told him. “It’s not like I’m trying to change your mind or anything, you know? You said you aren’t going to kill me. You said you would protect me—“

“So you think you owe me a blowjob?” Zayn asked.

“ _No,_ ” Harry snapped, sighing. “I want to blow you because I want to. I’ve wanted to since I saw you, yeah? And I know it’s fucked up, Zayn, I _know_ it is. But I—I can’t help it. I mean, do you—do you want me to?” he asked quietly, feeling his confidence wane just a little bit.

“Yeah, of course; been thinkin’ about your mouth more than is probably healthy,” he admitted with a quiet laugh. 

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, smiling softly. “So, like, there’s no downside, you know? We’ve established that, like, we both want this so… Why not?”

“I just—“ Zayn cut himself off, because Harry was _right._ Zayn had made the decision days before, maybe even a week before after his conversation with Louis, that he was going to do whatever he had to do to keep Harry safe. He wasn’t sure when it happened, or how it happened, but somewhere along the line, everything had shifted. And it had gone from Zayn knowing he had to kill Harry, to Zayn knowing that killing Harry wasn’t going to solve anything; killing Harry wasn’t going to bring his father back, it wasn’t going to change the fact that Paul had used Zayn for nearly fifteen years, and it wasn’t going to ease Zayn’s conscience. 

“Do you want me to say please?” Harry joked, fingertips curling around the waistband of Zayn’s joggers; he could feel the way Zayn’s prick was fattening up beneath him and he shifted his hips, rubbing against him. 

Zayn’s eyes fluttered shut and he cursed again. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he whispered, telling himself _fuck it_ before reaching for the waistband of Harry’s towel, untying it and shoving it off of his slim hips. 

Harry smiled softly. “Thank God. Want me to lock the door?” he asked as Zayn pushed the towel off of the bed.

“Fuck it,” Zayn said, tangling his fingers in Harry’s curls and pulling him down for a kiss. 

 

+

 

Zayn felt his heart sink, his chest get heavy, as he watched the coastline of Italy slowly come into view. The sun was rising along the horizon, the sky still dark and gray, and he could pretend for a little bit longer than he didn’t have to face the music. There was a chill in the air, rising off the water of the sea, and he felt, rather than heard, Niall walk up behind him. 

“Thirty minutes,” Niall said quietly, Irish accent rough and thick with sleep.

Zayn glanced at him over his shoulder, taking in his mussed-up hair and wrinkled shirt, eyes still heavy-lidded as he tried to hide a yawn behind his hand. “Yeah,” Zayn sighed, turning around to look back out at the water. 

“You know I got your back, right?” Niall asked softly, stepping closer to the edge of the boat and sitting down on the bench next to him. He had his back to the water, his hands folded on his lap, and stared at Zayn’s profile, wishing he could help with the uneasiness he knew Zayn was feeling. 

Zayn nodded, and he couldn’t express, didn’t know _how_ to express, how thankful he was for Niall and Louis in that moment—he had no idea how he would’ve gotten through the weeks beforehand without them. 

“So what’s the plan? Might as well get it out of the way before Bambi wakes up,” Louis announced, Vans slapping against the deck of the boat as he walked over to Niall and Zayn, sitting down on the other side of Zayn. 

“Get Harry off the boat without Paul realizing it, for one,” Zayn said with a nod. 

“How are we gonna do that?” Louis asked. “You know he’s gonna be waiting for you.”

“I’ll distract him,” Zayn shrugged. “I’ll figure it out. I gotta get him inside so one of you can sneak Harry out. My mum lives three blocks away. She’ll let him hide out there until I can get this sorted with Paul.”

“Sorted? He’s going to blow a gasket, mate,” Louis told him.

Zayn nodded. “I know. But I can handle him. I just need Harry to get out, yeah?”

“I can do it,” Niall offered. “Mums love me.”

“No, I need you with me,” Zayn told him. “You’re the best shot, Niall. If anything goes down with Paul, I need you by my side.”

“But—“

“No, I can take Harry,” Louis said quietly, interrupting Niall. “I’ll get him out of here safe.”

“Thank you, Louis,” Zayn whispered. “Niall and I will take care of Paul. Just keep Harry at my mum’s, yeah? Don’t leave him alone. Niall and I will come there when it’s all finished.”

Louis frowned. “You don’t want backup?”

“I need someone to stay with Harry. I promised I would keep him safe. I can’t do that personally, but I trust you, yeah? And just in case Paul tries anything with my mum or sisters, I know you’ll keep them safe, too, yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah, of course,” Louis said slowly. “You know I will.”

“So the game plan is for you and me to distract Paul while Louis gets Harry out of there?” Niall asked with a nod. “Perfect. And doable. I’ll ready the firearms, yeah? Get us all properly loaded. Paul’s not gonna take this well,” he said with a shrug, as carefree as if he were discussing the weather. 

Zayn felt himself laugh a little bit, and he reached over to squeeze Niall’s hand. “Thank you.”

Niall smiled, cheeks going a little pink in the low sunlight, and he awkwardly squeezed Zayn’s hand back; he might not have been the best with expressing his emotions, but he really didn’t _have_ to be. He released Zayn’s hand and stood up, escaping to the other side of the boat so he could get ready. 

“You do know that Paul might actually try to kill you after this, don’t you?” Louis asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Zayn said easily. “And I need you to make sure that Harry’s safe, that he gets home to his mum, yeah? And…make sure my mum gets what I’ve left for her and my sisters, yeah?”

“Zayn—“

“No, I know it’s not fair for me to ask you that,” he interrupted, running a hand over his face. “But you and Niall are the only two people I trust, yeah? Can you just—Can you _please_ just promise me that my mum and sisters, that _Harry_ will be alright?”

“What is it about this kid that has you risking your life for him?” Louis asked him, shaking his head. “I don’t get it.”

Zayn sighed. “Louis, I don’t—I don’t _know,_ okay? I just—“

“Don’t tell me you’ve done something stupid like falling in love with him,” Louis interrupted, “because that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“We’ve talked about this, Louis,” Zayn whispered. “Don’t—Don’t bring it up again.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “You’re going to get yourself killed over a kid who’s manipulated you into caring for him to spare his life.”

Zayn scoffed. “Please, Harry wouldn’t know how to manipulate someone anymore than _you_ would know how to shut the fuck up,” he told him with a quirk to his lips. 

“Maybe,” Louis agreed with a shrug. 

“I can’t do this without you, Louis,” he said quietly. “I need you to be on my side.”

“I’m on your sider,” Louis told him easily. “We can always argue about this later.”

Zayn smiled, leaning over and knocking their shoulders together. “Thank you.”

Louis hummed quietly, his telltale sign that he was done with the conversation and unhappy with Zayn—what a surprise. “You better go wake up Bambi. And warn him against being a grump—I don’t have the patience for that today,” he snapped.

Zayn’s smile widened. “You never have the patience for that,” he reminded him.

“Yes, well, that’s because Bambi’s annoying.”

Zayn shrugged. “He’s alright.”

“That’s because you’re fucking him,” Louis muttered.

“I’m _not,_ ” Zayn told him sharply, standing up and scratching the back of his neck. “I just have a better way of shutting him up than you do.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Go away.”

Zayn reached over and ruffled his hear, ignoring the squawk that left his lips; before Louis could retaliate, Zayn had already escaped to the lower level and dipped into the room he had been sharing with Harry. Or, well, actually all of them had been sharing it, since it was the only actual bed that they had, but—that wasn’t the _point._ He stopped by the bed, watching as Harry’s bare chest rose and fell slowly, barely concealed by the thin sheet, and he sat down on the edge of the bed next to him. He reached out and ran his fingertips across Harry’s shoulder lightly, just enough to stir the younger boy out of his sleep. 

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, rolling over onto his side and towards Zayn, leaning into the touch. “Zayn?” he asked, his voice rough and thick with sleep.

“Time to get up. We’re going to dock in half an hour,” he whispered, his voice heavy in the silence of the room.

Harry rubbed at his eyes, blinking them open slowly. “Wha’s the plan?” he asked, head falling back against the pillow while he stared sleepily up at Zayn. 

“Louis’ going to get you to my mum’s,” Zayn explained. “He’ll keep you safe there, with my family, until I come for you.”

“And,” Harry started, tongue darting out to wet his lips, “if you don’t?”

“I will,” he assured him.

Harry didn’t feel as confident, and he reached out for Zayn’s hand, linking their fingers together. “What if something happens to you?”

“Then you get out,” Zayn said simply. 

“What about your family?”

Zayn sucked in a deep breath. “My mum has a plan for everything,” he whispered. “She’s brilliant.”

“Mum’s love me,” Harry added with a big smile.

Zayn wanted to match the sentiment, but he couldn’t; his mind was already going in fifty thousand different ways, and he could feel panic settling in the pit of his stomach at the thought of losing Harry. “Louis will keep you all safe until I get there,” he promised. 

“Bet he’s gonna love that,” Harry grumbled.

With a quiet laugh, Zayn squeezed Harry’s hand with his own. “Niall and I are going to take care of Paul at the warehouse.”

“And…if Robin’s there?”

“I’ll take care of it,” he assured him. 

“Zayn—“

“If he’s involved, Harry, I’m going to take care of it,” he repeated, his tone sharp. “I need you to trust me.”

“I do—“

“Then you’re an idiot,” Zayn interjected sadly. “You’ve no reason to trust me—“

“But I _do,_ ” Harry interrupted. “I trust that you’ll do the right thing. You usually do. Apart from the whole, you know, kidnapping me thing.”

Zayn rolled his eyes.

Harry sat up slowly, letting go of Zayn’s hand to cup his jaw, thumb brushing across the stubble that lined his cheeks, and he pulled him in for a slow kiss, resting their foreheads together when he was done. “I’ll do whatever you say,” he whispered. “I trust your judgment.” 

Zayn nodded slowly, breathing in deep. “If I die—“

“Zayn—“

“ _If_ Paul kills me, which he very well might,” Zayn started, “I want you to know that I’m sorry.”

“Zayn—“

“I dragged you into this mess, quite literally. I got you involved in my own mess, my own fucking need for revenge, and you got caught in the middle. And that’s not fair to you, so I want to apologize. You deserve at least that much.”

Harry paused for a moment after Zayn finished speaking before pressing his lips to his again. “It’ll be a story for the grandkids,” he whispered.

Zayn surprised him by laughing loudly, shaking his head, and pressing his fingertips to Harry’s cheek. “You’re something else, Styles.”

“I know, Malik,” Harry teased, matching his tone before pulling him in for a kiss. He pressed himself against Zayn’s chest, positioning himself and throwing one of his legs over Zayn’s waist. He felt Zayn groan against him and he pulled him closer, falling back against the pillow and bringing Zayn with him. 

Zayn let out a grunt as he fell between Harry’s legs, and he forced himself to pull away and take a deep breath. “Harry—“

Harry pouted, running his hands through his hair, and he sighed. “C’mon, this could be the last time we see each other—“

“I don’t want you to feel—“

“Like I don’t have a choice,” Harry interrupted with a roll of his eyes. “I _know,_ and I _don’t._ I just _want_ you, yeah?” 

Zayn nodded slowly, leaning in to kiss him. “We don’t have time, Bambi,” he told him, brushing their noses together.

Harry pouted again. “I can be quick.”

“I’m sure,” Zayn teased with a grin. “Besides, the first time I fuck you, I wanna take my time, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed breathlessly. “Kiss me?”

“No,” Zayn said resolutely, shaking his head. “I do have something for you, though.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he smiled. “A gift?”

“Well, kind of,” Zayn shrugged, standing up slowly; he took a minute to regain his composure before stepping over to the wardrobe, pulling out something from the top shelf. He walked back over to the bed and sat down, handing Harry the small object.

“My mobile,” Harry breathed, running his thumb over the screen.

“It’s all charged and whatnot. M’not sure, really, Niall’s the tech person around here. I couldn’t even tell you the last mobile I owned,” he admitted. “But it’s charged. You can call your mum when you’re safe. You can call whoever you want, actually.”

“Thank you,” Harry whispered, turning it on and waiting for it to boot up. He smiled when he saw the background, a picture of him and his mum from Christmas, and he looked up at Zayn with wide eyes. “Will you do me a favor?”

Zayn nodded. “Yeah.”

“I want a picture of you,” Harry said quietly, “of us. Just…in case, you know?”

Zayn swallowed and nodded. “Just one?”

“Maybe a couple,” Harry admitted with a quirk of his lips. 

“Yeah,” Zayn agreed, allowing Harry to pull him close for a couple of photos, and he wasn’t the least bit surprised when the last one was a quick shot of Harry pressing their lips together. If he had been thinking clearly, he would’ve requested a copy of that one for himself—just in case.

 

+

 

Liam could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to flatten himself against the wall of the warehouse. He could see the dock perfectly around the corner, and he watched as Paul’s men ran out to help them dock. He felt the wound across his stomach, the one that was nearly healed, start to ache a little as he watched Zayn easily climb out of the boat. Even at a distance, the man was easily recognizable; Liam would never forget the sharp cut of his jaw and the cold look in his eyes. He also recognized the blond man next to him, the brown of his roots nearly taking over, and Liam couldn’t deny that the pair made him nervous. 

He reached behind himself to pat the firearm that was safely tucked into the back of his jeans, the metal cold against his clammy hands. He wrapped his fingers around it and waited, watched as Zayn and Niall were herded into the warehouse. Liam let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when Zayn and Niall were out of sight, and he pushed himself away from the wall and started making his way slowly towards the back entrance. He was about to reach for the door when he caught the sound of a few voices; he cursed under his breath and looked around quickly, diving behind a couple of the rubbish bins to his left, and trying to stay out of sight as much as he could. He stayed silent and still, the voices quiet, and his jaw dropped when his eyes landed on Harry.

He looked… _good,_ really. He definitely didn’t look like he had been injured, and he didn’t look like he had been a _hostage_ at all. He looked awake and coherent, his eyes bright but he could tell he was worried, and it didn’t make _sense._

“Is there a car waiting? M’not sure how far away Zayn’s family is,” Harry muttered. “Do they know we’re coming?”

“Shut up, Bambi,” the other one (Louis, Liam thought his name was) mumbled. He was following Harry closely, eyes trained on his back. 

“Do you think Zayn will be fine?” Harry whispered, looking over his shoulder. 

“Well, if he’s not, you know who to blame,” Louis said flippantly.

Harry sighed. “I—I can’t make him change his mind, Louis. You know how stubborn he is.”

“Mhmm,” he muttered. “M’not worried about Zayn.”

“Oh,” Harry said, pausing for a moment, glancing around. “So should I call for a car or are we walking the whole way?” he asked, digging his mobile out of his pocket.

Louis’ eyes narrowed. “Where did you get that?”

“Zayn gave it back to me,” Harry shrugged. “So should I—“

“I think you should put the mobile down.”

Harry glanced up, eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes went wide as Louis pulled a gun out from the back of his trousers and leveled it at his face. “Louis—“

“I said—“

Liam moved then, jumping out from behind the rubbish bin, and leveling his own gun straight at Louis. “Put your gun away,” he said evenly, “now.”

Louis smiled, reaching behind himself again to pull out a second gun, pointing it towards Liam. “What was that?”

Liam swallowed, slowly stepping to the side, trying to get closer to Harry.

“Liam—“

“Please, I’m sure you two will have all sorts of time to trade pleasantries later,” Louis said with a roll of his eyes. “But for now, Liam, you need to get out of the way. Harry’s late for a very important meeting.”

“M’not going to let you take him again,” Liam told him, taking another step towards Harry.

Louis groaned and pulled the trigger without a second thought, a bullet flying past Liam’s head. “The next one won’t miss. Get out of my way.”

“Put your gun down,” he said through gritted teeth. “Harry’s not going with you.”

Louis tsk’d and shook his head slowly. “I’ve got about five minutes before I have to be inside or it’s not just Harry’s head, it’s mine. So I’m going to give you thirty seconds to put your gun down and back away, or I’m going to shoot little Bambi and then you, got it?”

“M’not backing away, Louis,” Liam said, fingers flexing at the trigger. 

“Alright,” Louis shrugged, looking at Harry and pulling the trigger. He didn’t even blink as the bullet grazed Harry’s shoulder, splitting the skin and causing a little stream of blood to flow down his arm.

Harry’s eyes widened and he reached for his arm, fingers clamping over the wound as blood ran over his knuckles, eyes cheeks pale. 

“You—“ Liam forgot about the gun in his hand and he lunged at Louis, knocking him off of his feet, but Louis was quicker than he thought. 

In the blink of an eye, Louis had flipped Liam over, using the butt of his gun to strike him across the face and knocking him unconscious. He shoved one of his guns into the back of his trousers, pushing his hair out of his eyes, and he turned to Harry. “Drop your mobile,” he demanded.

Harry swallowed, wincing as he reached into the pocket for his phone, and he dropped it to the ground. He barely registered the sound of the material breaking; he could only focus on the barrel of the gun that was pointed right in his face. “Louis, I—“

“Shut up and walk,” Louis snapped. 

“I—I’m sorry, Louis, please—“

“I don’t care about your apologies. You’re a job to me. You won’t make me forget that with your pretty eyes like you did Zayn. I’m not so easily manipulated,” Louis informed him. 

“I didn’t manipulate—“

“Walk.”

Harry felt his eyes water and he pressed his fingers tighter to the wound. “Louis, I care about him, please, I—“

“Shut _up_ and walk,” Louis said, reaching forward and grabbing the collar of Harry’s shirt. “Pronto, Bambi. I’m feeling rather trigger-happy today.”

 

+

 

Zayn could feel his heart hammering in his chest the minute he and Niall stepped off of the boat. Two of Paul’s men rushed over to help him, he didn’t know their names, didn’t care, and Niall patted his shoulder, squeezing quickly. 

“Lads!” Niall declared with a grin. “Good morning. M’starving. Paul providing the provisions?” he asked.

One of the men frowned and the other rolled his eyes. “That’s not the priority right now, Mr. Horan. Mr. Malik, where is he?”

Zayn swallowed. “He’s here,” he informed him. “I need to speak to Paul.”

“Oh, you’ll be speakin’ to him alright,” the man said with a nod. “Where’s Styles?”

“You’ll get him as soon as I speak with Paul,” Zayn said. 

“You’ve always been a lil shit, Malik, but you’re really testin’ your boundaries now,” the other man said.

Zayn rolled his eyes.

“Lads, lads, lads,” Niall laughed. “C’mon, no need to get upset, yeah? Let’s go inside, have a chat with Paul, and then we’ll talk about Styles. Good plan?” he asked.

“Listen ‘ere, Horan—“

“I _said,_ good plan, yeah?” Niall repeated, the smile disappearing from his face as he met the eyes of Paul’s men. His fingers flexed at his hip, and he didn’t blink, staring the men down until they nodded.

One of the men reached for Zayn’s arm and he jerked away. “Don’t touch me,” Zayn muttered.

“Where’s Styles?”

“He’s on the boat with Tommo,” Niall told him. “He’ll bring him in. Zayn wants to talk with Paul first, that’s all.”

“This way,” one of the men grunted, the other following Niall and Zayn as they ushered them into the building. 

Zayn didn’t try to meet Niall’s eyes as he walked into the building. He kept his eyes straightforward, didn’t even pay attention to the familiar walls and corridors that he knew like the back of his hand. It didn’t take long until they were standing outside of Paul’s office, his men knocking on the door before pushing Niall and Zayn inside. Zayn stood front and center, hands clasped at the small of his back, and Niall stood to his left. 

“Do you want us to search ‘em, Mr. Higgins?” one of the men asked.

Paul glanced up from his papers and rolled his eyes. “Why would you search them?”

“They could be holdin’ firearms,” the other man said with a shrug.

“Yes, I know they are; they’re my employees, and that’s one of their requirements. They’re not stupid enough to shoot me,” Paul said.

Zayn’s jaw clenched. “We need to talk, Paul.”

“Yes, I’m sure we do. Did you kill Styles?” he asked.

“No.”

“Good. You’re making me a very rich man here, Malik,” he grinned. “Where is he?”

“You’re not getting him,” Zayn announced. 

Paul grinned, folding his arms on the table. “Oh?”

“He’s on the boat. That’s what he told us earlier,” one of Paul’s men piped in.

“Go look for him then,” Zayn muttered, eyes never moving from Paul’s. “You owe me an explanation.”

“Do you want us to check the boat?”

“No need,” Paul insisted, “I know exactly where Styles is.”

“What do you want with him?”

“Did he steal your heart, Malik? Is that affection I hear? The desperate need to protect him like you can’t protect your family?” Paul goaded

Zayn’s jaw clenched, and he sucked in a deep breath. “What does Robin want with him? Why did he have you hire me to kidnap his stepson?”

Paul narrowed his eyes, a small smile still on his face, and he stood up. He walked around the desk, encroaching upon Zayn’s space, to lean backwards against the desk, right in front of him. “Why do you think Styles was the endgame?”

“Because you had me kidnap him?” Zayn offered, taking a step back.

“Styles isn’t the prize here.”

Zayn frowned. “Wh—“

“Zayn,” Niall whispered, and Zayn had never heard that tone of voice from him before.

Zayn froze as he heard the door open and a couple of feet shuffle in; he turned to see Robin walk in, surrounded by a handful of guards, with a dark smile on his face. He swallowed, the hair on the back of his neck standing up, as Robin’s four men stood behind Zayn and Niall, making the rather large office feel a lot smaller. Zayn tilted his head to each side, wincing only slightly when he heard the bones crack. “If you’re trying to intimidate me, it’s not working,” he told him.

“We’re not trying to intimidate you, Malik—“

“Don’t,” Zayn snapped, turning to meet Robin’s eyes, “talk to me. Understand?”

Robin smiled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Listen here—“

“I said _don’t,_ ” Zayn repeated, turning to face him, reaching for the gun tucked into the back of his trousers, and pointing it towards him. “It’s not going to take a lot of convincing for me to pull this trigger and end your sad, pathetic life.”

“The same way I ended your father’s?” Robin asked. 

Zayn’s jaw clenched and he went to move forward, but Niall grabbed his arm and held him back. “Niall, let me go—“

“Zayn, we’re outnumbered,” Niall whispered into his ear. “Let them talk, yeah? You wanted to talk to Paul, let’s talk with him, okay?”

It took his heart rate a whole minute to go back down to normal, and Zayn lowered his weapon. “Styles isn’t the prize,” Zayn muttered, more to himself than anyone around him, and the events of the past few weeks seemed to go swimming through his mind, clear as day—Paul’s insistence on Zayn being the one to bring Harry in, the fact that it was the son of the man who had killed Zayn’s father—and all of it almost make sense. He sighed, shaking his head at the only answer that seemed plausible. “I am.”

 

+

 

“Louis, you don’t—don’t have to aim the gun at me, okay? I’m going willingly,” Harry grumbled as Louis shoved him forward down the hallway.

“M’not taking any chances. You can’t bat your pretty little eyelashes at me to get out of this,” Louis muttered.

“I didn’t— Christ, you really think I’m manipulating Zayn, don’t you?” he asked, glancing backwards over his shoulder to briefly meet Louis’ eyes. 

Louis shrugged. “Doesn’t matter what I think.”

“Just matters what Paul thinks?” Harry questioned.

“He is the one paying me,” Louis deadpanned. 

“So you’re going to betray your friend—“

“Zayn isn’t my friend.”

“He _trusted_ you to get me out of there, “ Harry told him, wincing when Louis shoved him again, stumbling and nearly falling over. 

Louis shrugged. “He isn’t the one paying me.”

“So it’s all about money?” Harry asked with a scoff, but he was cut off when Louis grabbed his shoulder and shoved him against the wall. “Wh—“

“Shut up, Bambi; I’m sick of hearing your voice,” Louis grumbled.

Harry shut up, biting at his lips while Louis leaned against the wall across from him. He stood there in silence for a minute, watching the reckless way that Louis twirled the gun around in his hand. If it had been a few days before, Harry would’ve bet anything that Louis wasn’t going to hurt him, and now he wasn’t so sure. He briefly wondered if Zayn knew; if he knew that Louis had no intention of keeping him safe, but he pushed that aside quickly. It wasn’t something he could explain, it was just something he _felt._ “I’m not, you know,” he whispered after a few minutes.

“Shutting up? Yeah, I know,” he snapped, fixing Harry with a glare.

“No, I—I’m not manipulating Zayn,” he told Louis, his voice still quiet. 

Louis nodded slowly, lips pursed. “You know, I’ve only known Zayn for a couple of months,” he started. “I’ve heard about him for years, though, ever since I got into this line of work. He’d always been, like, the guy you want to be in this industry. And when I met Paul, he had nothing but good things to say about him.”

Harry just nodded; he didn’t trust himself to speak and interrupt Louis. Something told him he wouldn’t take too well to that.

“And this is the only time I’ve ever heard about him getting emotionally involved or attached,” Louis said easily. “One time, he was working a job in Dubai. He fit in real well out there, looked the part, dressed the part, everyone loved him, from what I hear. He had a job offer from some company there, a chance to go legit, some sort of security, I think. And he turned it down. Anyway, he was getting real chummy with the daughter of his mark. And everyone thought that was it, the great Malik is gonna lose his cool because of this woman, but he didn’t,” he said, shaking his head. 

Harry swallowed, looking down at his hands. He sank a little bit down against the wall, his knees buckling. 

“But he didn’t. He seduced her, got the key to her father’s room, and killed him while she lay sleeping in the room next door. That’s Zayn, that’s what he’s known for—cold-hearted efficiency. So you can see why I’m a little hesitant to believe that he actually _cares_ about you,” Louis finished with a sneer. 

“How does—How does pretending to care about me help him at all? He was supposed to bring me here, and he didn’t want to,” Harry said quietly. He didn’t want to believe that it was a game to Zayn; there was a little voice inside of his head telling him that it _wasn’t_ a lie. 

Louis shrugged. “Who knows? Zayn always has a plan.”

 

+

 

“How in the hell are we supposed to get out of this?” Niall whispered in Zayn’s ear after his little realization. His hands were itching at his side, the hair on the back of his neck standing up, and he had to physically stop himself from reaching for a gun. He could tell the men around him were poised and ready at a moment’s notice, but Zayn was flagging, and Niall couldn’t handle all of the men on his own—he needed Zayn coherent and attentive. 

“I don’t know,” Zayn whispered, his arm falling until he was no longer holding the pistol in Robin’s direction. “I—I have no idea.”

“There’s an easy way out, gentlemen,” Robin said calmly. “Malik stays. Horan leaves. This doesn’t concern you, son. You did your job—you got Malik here.”

Niall frowned. “What? No, the job was to get _Styles_ here,” he told him. “I’m not—I’m not leaving.”

“You can go, Niall,” Zayn said quietly. “Find Louis, make sure Harry’s safe. Since this doesn’t concern him, I’m sure you won’t mind if he’s escorted out of here and to safety.”

Paul pursed his lips. “Louis’ right outside the door, Horan, it won’t take you too long to find him.”

Zayn’s eyes narrowed. “Wh—No, Louis was—“

“Tomlinson has Styles, and he’s outside that door,” Paul repeated, nodding towards the door. 

“But he— He was supposed—“

Paul smiled, shaking his head sadly. “Did you really think I would have you working with people I couldn’t trust? I know you, Zayn; I know you very well. Someone had to keep an eye on you while you were out on the water, to protect you from yourself and your rash decisions.”

“Didn’t do that good of a job,” Robin muttered. “Looks like my stepson was good for something after all.”

Zayn’s jaw clenched. “If Harry has nothing to do with this, then you let him go,” he demanded. 

“You’re not exactly in the position to be making demands, Malik.”

“I said,” Zayn started, sucking in a deep breath and aiming the firearm towards Robin again, “you let him _go._ And I’ll stay. No questions, no fighting.”

“No,” Robin declared easily with a shake of his head, nodding towards his men who had all leveled their own firearms towards Zayn. “You think you’re going to walk out of this room alive, Malik?”

“Let’s just all take a deep breath,” Niall suggested, “and talk this out, yeah? Let’s put the guns away and just talk.” His fingers were resting on the hilt of his pistol, not pulling it out of the holster just yet; he wanted to give them another shot, just one more chance. 

“You could’ve come to me at any time,” Zayn said, his voice hard and eyes dark. “Any amount of times I’ve been in this building the same time you have. You could’ve killed me while I had nothing to defend myself, like you did to my father, and yet you chose to have this…elaborate plan of yours, instead?” he asked, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t be surprised you have a flair for dramatics.”

“And I shouldn’t be surprised that you fell for the doe-eyed routine that my stepson is so fond of using. Really, it was quite brilliant, using him as bait,” Robin commented. “I’m quite proud of myself for coming up with that one. He was finally able to make me proud.”

Zayn forced his hand not to shake as he stepped closer to Robin, surprised that no one tried to stop him, as he crowded the man up against the wall, gun pressed against his throat. “You’re a disgusting man and a horrible father,” he whispered. “Harry was better off on that boat with me, thinking he’d been kidnapped, than being anywhere with _you._ ”

“Oh? You think so?” Robin asked, pursing his lips and nodding. “Alright,” he conceded, raising a hand and motioning for one of his guards to come closer.

Zayn’s head whipped around the minute he heard the door open, and his jaw dropped when he saw Louis drag Harry into the room, a gun pressed to the pale skin of his neck. “Lou, wh—“ Zayn felt his heart rate pick up when his eyes landed on Harry’s arm, blood seeping through the fabric of the black t-shirt he was wearing and trailing down towards his elbow. “Wh—“

“Zayn—“ Niall reached for Zayn’s arm to hold him back before he could lunge at Louis.

“What the _fuck_ did you do to him?!” Zayn screamed, trying to shove Niall off of him so he could get to Harry, but Niall wasn’t budging.

“Zayn—“

“Oh, shut the fuck up, for once in your life, Bambi,” Louis groaned with a roll of his eyes. “Can someone take him off my hands? He’s starting to annoy.”

Zayn swallowed as he met Harry’s eyes, and he wished he could take it all back. He wished he could go back and say no, think it through, do _anything_ that would result in anything different; seeing Harry bleeding and struggling in Louis’ arms was making him see red. He shook his head sadly towards Harry, and he hoped he was imagining things when he saw Harry mouth _it’s okay,_ and he shifted his gaze towards Louis. “You were supposed to be my friend—someone I could _trust._ ”

Louis shrugged. “You should know better than to trust anyone in this line of work, love.”

“Let Harry go,” Zayn said softly, “and I’ll do whatever you say.”

“Zayn, don’t—“ Harry sniffled, cutting himself off. “Don’t—“

“You were right Robin; he is good,” Paul drawled out from where he was still leaning against his desk. 

“I suppose he’s good for something after all,” Robin commented. “Good work, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “Zayn, I swear I didn’t—“

“You have one minute,” Zayn said, turning to meet Robin’s eyes, “to let Harry go. If he is not free and out of this room in sixty seconds, I will kill you.”

Robin smiled. “I’m already sick of this little love fest you two have going on, to be honest,” he told him. “It’ll be much more entertaining to have him here when I kill you like I killed your father.”

“So like a coward, then?” Zayn taunted. “You have to have all of your men here to back you up and detain me, because you and I both know you aren’t strong enough to face me like a man.”

The smile disappeared from Robin’s face and he practically growled as he advanced on Zayn, stopping right in front of him, pulling his gun from the back of his trousers and pressing it to Zayn’s throat. “How’s this for man to man?”

“How about you let your son go and we’ll see?” Zayn countered. 

“No,” Robin said slowly, taking a step back, waving his gun in Zayn’s face. “I like my idea a lot more.”

“Niall,” Zayn said, glancing over at the Irishman from the corner of his eye.

“Yeah,” Niall nodded towards him, eyes scanning over the rest of Robin’s men as he backed up against Zayn, gun poised and ready to go. 

“Your minute’s up,” Zayn told him, lifting his foot and pushing Robin back quick enough catching him off guard. Within the blink of an eye, he had turned and shot towards Louis, clipping him on the shoulder and causing him to let go of Harry.

Niall reacted fast, darting across the room and throwing an arm around Harry’s waist, tackling him to the floor as all hell broke loose. 

 

+

 

Liam winced as he slowly came to, his eyes blinking open wearily, the sunlight blinding. It took him only a few minutes for his eyes to clear and for him to remember where he was. He sat up slowly, reaching up to gingerly touch at his cheek; he could feel the heat radiating off and knew it looked as nasty as it felt—he didn’t need a mirror for that. He waited a brief second for his head to stop throbbing, and his eyes landed on Harry’s mobile where it had fallen out of his hand when Louis had shot at him. 

Liam reached for Harry’s mobile, swiping the screen open, and he frowned when he saw the background was a picture of Harry and Zayn. Liam could’ve spent hours analyzing that, but he had bigger problems to deal with; he could address Harry’s Stockholm syndrome with him later. He pulled up his most recent screen, which was his notepad that had just one note—an address and a phone number. Swallowing, he shoved the mobile into his pocket and looked around for his gun; he found it a few yards away, and picked it up, thankful that it was still loaded, and he forced himself to stand.

He found his way into the building easily enough; the blueprints that Sophia and Eleanor had sent him had been imbedded into his brain. He made his way down the halls, part of him surprised that the corridors were empty and the other part of him unsurprised because he could only imagine what could’ve been distracting everyone. His best shot at finding Harry would be locating Paul’s office, but he wasn’t sure if he could trust the blueprints on that one; someone as smart and ruthless as Paul wouldn’t keep his office in the same place all the time, he would switch it up to keep people on their toes. He was about to turn down one of the hallways when he heard the distinct sound of gunfire, and he was running

The gunfire didn’t stop and he could hear yelling, but he couldn’t tell if it was Harry or not. He paused outside the door long enough to make sure his gun was loaded, a couple of extra clips shoved into his pocket, and he took a deep breath before kicking the door open. He ducked down and rolled into the room, raising his gun and leveling it towards Zayn, who was kneeling against the side of Paul’s desk, blocking Harry from his sight. With a groan, he turned towards the men who were firing at Zayn and Harry, clipping one on the shoulder before rushing over towards where Harry was and reaching for his arm.

“Liam!” Harry shouted, wincing a little when Liam tugged at his arm. “What are you—“

“We’re getting out of here,” Liam snapped.

Zayn barely turned to look at Liam over his shoulder, smiling slightly. “Good to see you again, Liam,” he said loudly enough to be heard over the gunfire. 

“Good to see you didn’t kill him,” Liam grumbled.

“How’s your stomach?” Zayn countered with a laugh.

Niall rolled his eyes, firing quickly at the man who had been pointing his gun towards Zayn, and glared at the two of them. “Are you two done bickering?”

Zayn cursed as a bullet flew by his head, and he climbed over Harry to get behind Paul’s desk. He slid an arm around Harry’s waist, pulling him along until he was hidden for the most part behind the desk. “Someone’s got to get Harry out of here,” Zayn said, sucking in a deep breath.

“M’not leaving you,” Harry said, reaching for Zayn’s arm.

“You have to, babe,” Zayn told him, refusing to meet his eyes; he didn’t have to look at Harry to know his eyes were wide and scared and pleading. 

“I’ll take him,” Liam offered, leaning up onto his knees to fire towards Robin’s men before falling back down. “Let’s go—“

“No, I want Niall to take him,” Zayn interrupted.

“Zayn—“ Harry started.

“No,” Zayn cut him off, leaning over the desk and firing a couple of more shots towards Robin, who was hiding behind the rest of his men. He lowered himself back down to Harry’s eyelevel and cupped his cheek with his free hand. “You have to go. You’re not safe here.”

“Neither are you!” Harry protested, eyes watering. 

“Niall!” Zayn yelled.

Niall looked over at him from where he was leaning around the leg of the desk. “Z, you know I’m the best shot here,” he told him. “Liam should take him.”

“I can’t trust Liam; I trust _you,_ ” Zayn grumbled.

“At least you don’t have to worry about Liam betraying you,” Niall quipped, sending Zayn a grin. “You know he has Harry’s best interests at heart.”

Zayn cursed, knowing Niall was right; his clenched his jaw, refusing to look at Liam. “You get him out of here, and you get him to safety, alright?”

“I will,” Liam promised.

“Zayn, I don’t wanna leave you,” Harry whispered.

“I know,” Zayn said quietly, eyes falling to the blood that was clotting on Harry’s bicep, and he reached towards it, running his hand over Harry’s arm. His hand was shaking when he pulled it back, covered in blood. “You’ve been through enough because of me. You have to go.”

“I’m _not_ leaving you,” Harry said through gritted teeth.

“Babe,” Zayn said with a sigh, reaching up to cup Harry’s face and pull him in for a quick kiss. He could feel Harry shivering against his chest, could feel the way the younger boy was trying to climb onto him and get closer, and he forced himself to pull away. He met Harry’s eyes and wishes he hadn’t, he could see the tears pooling in his green orbs and he had to bite his tongue. “I’ll find you after.”

“Promise?” Harry asked shakily, covering Zayn’s hand with his own, seemingly unbothered by the fact that he was spreading his blood around even more—it didn’t _matter._

“I _swear,_ ” Zayn whispered, kissing him again before finally turning to face Liam. “Niall and I will cover you. Just get him as far away from here as you can, yeah?”

“M’not leaving, Zayn, they don’t want me—they’ll _kill_ you!” Harry yelled, trying to pull Zayn close to him. 

“And they’ll make you watch if you stay,” Zayn told him, feeling his heart twist in his chest at the sad look on Harry’s face as he shook his head. “Please go, Harry. I’ll find you after, yeah?” he repeated.

“Yeah,” Liam nodded and he reached out for Harry. “We have to go, H.”

Harry looked down at his hands as a couple of tears fell from his eyes and he leaned in to wrap his arms around Zayn’s neck, pressing his face against his neck. “If you die, I’ll kill you.”

Zayn felt a small bubble of laughter well up in his throat and he smoothed a hand over Harry’s curls, pulling back and brushing his lips against the younger boy’s one last time. He scanned his eyes over Harry’s face and nodded. “Deal. Now go, Bambi, yeah?”

“Just— Stick to the plan? And I will, too,” Harry nodded. “Okay?”

Zayn brushed his thumb across Harry’s cheek as he nodded. “Go. I’ll cover you.”

“’Bout time I get some bloody help up here,” Niall grumbled. “Zayn, gimme your extra clip.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Zayn said, tossing it over to Niall before leaning up and over the desk, shooting towards Robin’s men. “Go.”

Liam stood up and held Harry behind his back, shielding him as much as he could.

Zayn took control, reaching for the second gun he had tucked into his boot as he proceeded to take out Robin’s men as quickly as he could. He was a good shot, not the best, but he was able to disarm and disable them as quickly as he could.

“Paul! Get my son!” Robin yelled, hiding behind one of his men while trying to shoot towards Niall and Zayn.

Paul lunged towards Liam then, aiming for Harry, and Liam didn’t hesitate before raising his gun towards Paul and firing. He heard Harry gasp behind him and he reached for his arm, gripping him tightly and leading him towards the door. “C’mon, H, we gotta go,” he said quietly, pulling Harry in front of him and pushing him out of the door. He didn’t give Harry a chance to think as he started running, forcing Harry to run to catch up with him, and he didn’t stop until they were out of the building and two blocks away, holed up in an alleyway between two houses, where they paused to catch their breath.

“You shot him,” Harry whispered, leaning back against the wall and sinking down until he was sitting. “You shot him.”

“H—“

“He—He—He was coming at you, and you—you shot him,” he repeated, his breathing heavy. 

“Harry?”

“I think I’m having an asthma attack.”

Liam smiled a little, lips quirking upwards, and he sat down next to Harry, reaching out to stroke his hair. “Deep breath, H; in and out, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed quietly, nodding. “Is Zayn gonna be okay?”

“Dammit, Harry, don’t—don’t think about that, yeah? He’s—C’mon, the hotel is just a couple of blocks away. I have friends who are booking us the first flight out. I just have to call them and let them know you’re safe,” he explained, standing up and pulling his mobile out of his pocket.

“No.” 

Liam froze, eyes narrowing. “What?”

“I said no,” Harry repeated. “M’not leaving without Zayn.”

“Zayn is probably dead, Harry,” Liam snapped. “Not to mention, he’s the one who kidnapped you in the first place. He’s the one who bloody well _stabbed_ me. _He_ is the reason you’re in this mess—“

“No, he’s not, Liam,” he said, shaking his head. “He—He wanted me safe. He tried to get me out. He didn’t know Louis was going to—He didn’t _know,_ ” he repeated. “You don’t—You weren’t there, okay? He’s—He’s different. Things changed, okay, on the boat? He wasn’t going to turn me in.”

“Oh, he told you that? Yes, I completely see why you can trust the madman who stabbed your friend and kidnapped you. That makes sense,” Liam muttered sarcastically, and he paused before it dawned on him. “Did he—Did he take advantage of you?”

“No!” Harry yelled, looking up at Liam like he had gone mad. “He would never. I—I mean, we—” he shrugged, “we, like…but I initiated it. He—He said he didn’t want me to feel like I didn’t have a choice, so it was on my terms.”

Liam ran his hands over his face. “Harry, don’t you see what’s going on here? This is a classic case of Stockholm syndrome—“

“No, it’s _not,_ ” Harry snapped. “And even if it is, I don’t care. Zayn is a good person, whether you see it or not. _I_ see it. And I know he is. And I’m not leaving without him. We had a plan, and I’m sticking to it.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. What’s the plan?”

Harry swallowed. “He gave me the address to go to his mum’s. He said I would be safe there until he could find me. I know you don’t trust him, Li, but you trust me. And I know that he’s looking out for me. I can’t—I can’t leave without him.”

“H,” Liam started with a heavy sigh, “the chances of Zayn making it out alive are slim to none.”

“If anyone can do it, he can,” Harry said. “I wish I had my mobile. The address is on there. I don’t remember it,” he whispered sadly.

Liam scratched at the back of his neck, hesitating only for a minute or two before giving in, because he had always been useless at saying no to Harry. He reached into his back pocket, digging out Harry’s mobile, and handing it over to him. “I’ll wait with you,” he grumbled begrudgingly. “I don’t trust Zayn. But if he makes it out alive, I’ll give him a chance for you. Okay?”

“You will?” Harry asked, eyes wide, as he peered up at Liam.

Liam nodded. “Yeah, but m’not happy about it.”

Harry smiled and held out his hand, his smile widening when Liam pulled him up and in for a hug. “Thank you. I know you don’t like him, but I promise he’s not what you think. He could’ve turned me in, but he tried to get me out. He’s a good person.”

“If you say so,” Liam frowned. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

 

+

 

Through the mess of bullets and blood flying around the room, Zayn lost Niall; he wasn’t a fool, he knew the Irishman could easily watch out for himself, but he wanted them to stick together. He barely felt the sting of a bullet graze past his side, the pain not even registering as he focused on firing at what he could, and he didn’t miss the little laugh that escaped Niall’s lips when the last of Robin’s men fell to the ground. Zayn whipped his head around, trying to find Robin, but was caught off guard when an arm wrapped around his neck, and he felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed against his temple. 

“Drop the gun,” Robin hissed in Zayn’s ear, slipping the gun down the side of his face until it was nuzzled against the column of his throat.

Zayn didn’t move for a moment, didn’t say a word, and didn’t make a move to drop the gun at all.

“Let him go,” Niall said, staring Robin down, “or I shoot.”

“I don’t think you will,” Robin mused.

Niall pulled the trigger, frowning when it clicked, and he cursed under his breath. “Out of fucking ammo, can’t fuckin’ believe it,” he grumbled.

“S’alright, Niall,” Zayn said quietly. “You can go.”

Niall’s frown deepened, his brow furrowing. “You’re daft if you think m’gonna leave, mate,” he told him.

“It’s alright,” Zayn repeated, sucking in a deep breath and allowing his eyes to drift shut for a moment. “It’s alright.” And he was telling himself more than Niall, figuring if he repeated it enough, he would eventually believe himself. Though, it mostly _was_ alright, because he had gotten Harry out of there alive and relatively safe, and that had been his main goal. Maybe he deserved it, being stuck in that position, with Robin poised and ready to kill; maybe he had let his thirst for revenge get he better of him, maybe… 

“See, Mr. Horan? He’s accepted his fate. He knows he’s going to die in this room,” Robin taunted, arm tightening around Zayn’s neck.

Zayn choked, struggling to breathe for a moment, and he tried to pull Robin’s arm off of him. 

“Struggling to breathe,” Robin said through his laughter, “just like your pathetic father.”

Niall gritted his teeth. “Robin, let him _go._ You’re outnumbered.”

“Yet I’m the only one with ammo.”

“I don’t need ammo to take you out, mate,” Niall threatened. 

“Neither of us do,” Zayn whispered, reaching for Robin’s arm and twisting it until the man cried out in pain. In the blink of an eye, Zayn had dug his knife out of his pocket and planted it in the meat of Robin’s thigh, causing him to topple over. 

Niall kicked a gun across the floor, one he had taken from Robin’s men who was busy bleeding out on the floor. “Zayn!”

Zayn reached for it while Robin was screaming in pain, climbing on top of him. Robin tried to throw him off, but Zayn had him pinned, knees holding his arms down while he wrapped a hand around his throat. “Now, where were we?”

 

+

 

“Are you sure this is a good idea, H?” Liam asked quietly as Harry stared at the red door in front of him. The house was big, stone washed and salty from the sea that was barely one hundred yards away. Liam wished he could say he had a bad feeling, some sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he didn’t, and that alone was unnerving. 

“It was the plan,” Harry answered, raising a hand and knocking on the door before he lost his nerve. It felt like an eternity before anyone answered, and Harry busied himself by staring at the address on his mobile, making sure it was the right house. The door flew open and a little girl with bright eyes and ruddy cheeks from laughter stared up at him curiously. “Hi,” Harry said with a big smile. “You must be Safaa. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Mum!” the little girl yelled, taking a step back from the door and slamming it shut in Harry’s face.

Harry turned to his left to face Liam, shocked. “Did—Did I do something?”

“Probably came on a little strong, mate,” Liam told him.

Harry pouted. “But it’s true—I have heard a lot about her,” he insisted. 

“Think about it, H, a stranger coming up and—“ Liam cut himself off as the door opened quickly.

Harry took a step back involuntarily, surprised at the instant similarity he recognized between Zayn and his mum, and he felt his heart ache a little bit at the thought of never seeing Zayn again. “Hi,” he breathed out quietly, suddenly feeling nervous, even a little scared.

“Hello. Can I help you?” she asked, tone a little timid but eyes warm and welcoming. 

And Harry didn’t know what to _say._ He didn’t know how much Zayn’s mum knew about his career, and he didn’t know how to be the one to tell her what was going on. Zayn had insisted that she would take him in no matter what, and seeing the look in her eyes, Harry knew that was true. “I—I—I know your son,” he stuttered out.

Her eyes widened and she stepped outside of the house, shutting the door behind her. “Is he okay? Is my Zayn okay?” she asked.

“I—“

“Yes,” Liam interjected smoothly, resting a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “It’s…actually an incredibly long story,” he told her with a little laugh. “I’m Liam, and this is Harry. We met your son through…business.”

“That boy,” she grumbled, shaking her head. “That business of his—“ she trailed off, running a hand over her hair. “Would you two boys like to come in? I’ll make a cuppa, and I’ve got some biscuits with your name on it.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Malik,” Liam said with a gracious smile.

“Please, call me Trisha,” she insisted, opening the door and waving them in. “Ignore the girls. We don’t get many visitors.”

Harry understood what she meant as soon as they walked through the living area; three sets of bright eyes were trained on him, and they didn’t waver. He lifted up a hand in a small wave as he followed Trisha into the kitchen with Liam’s hand warm on the small of his back. He took the seat that was offered to him and stared down at his hands, lost in thought, until a small little teacup was set in front of him, piping hot. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“It’s no bother,” Trisha assured him, sitting down across from him. “Don’t tell me my son did something stupid.”

Liam bit his lip as he sat down close to Harry. “Well—“

Harry smiled up at Trisha. “Doesn’t he always?”

Trisha shook her head fondly. “That boy always did know how to make me worry,” she whispered. “You said you met through business?”

“I—It’s a long story,” Harry told her, echoing Liam’s words from earlier.

“I’ve got time.”

Harry sucked in a deep breath. “I—My name is Harry Styles, my step-father is Robin Twist,” he started off, chancing a look up at her just in time to see her eyes narrow, the grip she had on the handle of her mug tightening. “Zayn was sent to kidnap me.”

Trisha swallowed. “Go on,” she insisted, her voice thick with emotion.

“I—I had no idea that Robin was so…awful,” he promised. “I—Zayn told me about his father, your husband, and… I’m so sorry. I thought Zayn was going to kill me, but he didn’t, and— He figured out that Paul and Robin were behind it, that he was being used in some bigger plot, I’m not sure, exactly,” Harry explained, even though he knew he was doing a shit job. The more he talked about Zayn and the situation that he had left him in, the guiltier he felt. 

“He protected Harry,” Liam said, stepping in when he knew it was too much for Harry. “He figured out that Harry was the bait, and that Robin was really after him the whole time. He made sure we got out safe, told us to come here, and he stayed behind to deal with Robin himself.”

“Robin always had it out for Yaser,” Trisha said after a moment. “Yaser went to Robin because he needed money to start his own company; he and Robin had been friends for years. And Robin said he would help how he could, set him up with all of these meetings with all these investors, under the guise that he was helping out. And it all went south very fast. 

“He was setting him up for failure the whole time, stealing the research that Yaser had been working on for decades out from under his nose, and selling it off to the highest bidder. And Yaser had been studying stem cells, cloning, and the like. And that sort of information and research was worth a lot of money to the right people,” she said, taking a break to take a sip of her tea. “Yaser was brilliant. He had a way of looking at the brain and science and the like in a way that I could never hope to understand. When he found out what Robin had done, he went to Paul to see if he could get his research back. Now Paul is a smart man, but he’s very foolish, and he tried to convince Yaser that the only way to get it back was to go after Robin.

“No matter what anyone says, my husband isn’t—wasn’t a violent man,” she corrected herself. “He told Paul that wasn’t what he wanted to do. But Paul didn’t listen, doesn’t listen, and he arranged it so that Robin and Yaser could meet face to face to discuss what happened. And the day before their meeting was supposed to happen, Yaser took Zayn out for a father-son day. Oh, how Zayn adored his baba,” she whispered. “They went out by the sea, Yaser wanted to teach Zayn how to swim, but Zayn refused. And there, Robin and Paul confronted him. I—I don’t know exactly what happened. Zayn didn’t speak for weeks after it happened. But Robin shot Yaser, right in front of my son. He was only twelve.”

Harry reached across the table for Trisha’s hand, holding it tightly. 

“He’s wanted to clear his father’s name ever since,” Trisha finished, squeezing Harry’s hand. “You must be very important to my sunshine for him to send you here.”

Harry smiled softly, blinking back tears. “He’s a good man,” he told her. “He could’ve killed me. He _wanted_ to kill me. But he protected me, kept me safe instead.”

“He’s got a heart of gold,” Trisha whispered. “He pretends he doesn’t, but he does. And now he’s alone with that monster…”

“He’ll be fine,” Harry insisted, breathing in deep through his nose. “He has to be.”

 

+

 

Zayn winced as he shifted on top of Robin, knees digging into his biceps. “Was there something else you wanted to say, Robin?” he asked.

“You think this is the end?” Robin asked, choking a little bit at the end. 

Zayn smiled. “Is that so?”

“I’ve more men who will be here any minute,” Robin promised. “If you think you can shoot your way through them, you’re wrong.”

“I might not be able to,” Zayn admitted, “but I’m sure Niall can.”

“Of course I can,” Niall boasted, picking up a couple of spare guns from Robin’s dead men, rifling through their pockets for rounds of ammo. “Cheers, mate.”

“Wanna take care of that for me, Ni?”

“My pleasure,” Niall told him with a grin. “You got it covered in here?”

“Of course,” Zayn said easily, tightening his grip around Robin’s throat. “We’ll be fine.” He heard Niall slip out of the door, the pitter-patter of his feet down the hallway followed by the sound of a gun. He waited for a moment before he tossed the gun aside, reaching down for the knife that was embedded in Robin’s thigh, pulling it out and pressing it to his throat. “Where were we?”

Robin swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “You’re pathetic. You don’t have the guts to—“

“To kill you?” he supplied with a laugh. Zayn shook his head, wiping the blade against Robin’s throat. “I was twelve years old when you killed my father in front of me. You have ruined my life in so many ways, and you really think I don’t have the nerve?”

“You’re just as pathetic as your father was. He had many chances to kill me, too, son, and he never did.”

“Because he was a good man,” Zayn said, “but I’m not.”

Robin’s hand fumbled towards the side, and Zayn kicked his leg out, pinning Robin’s wrist to the floor with the heel of his boot. “Listen here—“

“I’m done listening,” Zayn whispered, dragging the edge of the blade across Robin’s throat, barely nicking the skin. Zayn was cut off by a quick thrust of Robin’s hips, knocking him over. He fell onto his back with a grunt, his hold tightening on the knife, as Robin reached for the gun. He didn’t even have time to think as Robin yelled, waving the gun around, and Zayn trusted his gut as he raised his hand, planting the knife into the side of Robin’s throat.

 

+

 

Harry couldn’t stop staring at the clock as he waited. Trisha, bless her heart, had been doing what she could do distract him, but nothing was working. Safaa kept braiding the ends of Harry’s hair while they watched cartoons, and that was the closest Harry came to distracting himself from the fact that he was waiting for Zayn to walk through the door. 

He refused to acknowledge the fact that Zayn might not be coming back, that he could already be dead. He couldn’t have that on his conscience, knowing that Zayn had only stayed behind because he wanted to keep Harry safe—Harry didn’t deserve that, and Zayn deserved better. 

Safaa and Waliyha tried to keep him occupied by putting on different movies, Trisha kept bringing him food, and Doniya just stared him down from across the room where she sat next to Liam. Liam had drifted off a few minutes before, about the third time that Safaa had insisted on watching How To Train Your Dragon _again._ And it wasn’t even halfway through the movie when Safaa fell asleep on Harry’s shoulder, Waliyha slipping into the kitchen to help her mum stress-clean the kitchen, and that was the first time Doniya actually spoke to him.

“Do you think Zayn’s alive?” Doniya asked quietly, not wanting to disturb Liam where he was asleep next to her.

Harry chewed on his lower lip for a minute, running his fingers over Safaa’s hair. “Yeah, I do,” he whispered, and it didn’t even feel like he was trying to convince himself anymore. “I think…we’d feel it if he wasn’t, you know?”

Doniya narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you love him?”

“I—I don’t know,” Harry admitted. “I just—“

“I never see him,” she interrupted with a sad smile. “He never stops by, maybe once or twice a year, with a bag full of money that he gives mum. He checks in every now and then, asks how we’re doing, if I’ve settled down or if Waliyha is thinking about going to uni, if Safaa is acting like a teenager yet.”

“Oh.”

She shrugged. “It’s part of his job. Mum thinks we don’t know, that we don’t understand, but we do,” she told him. “He’s my kid brother, yet he’s always taken care of us since our baba died. And not once—not _once_ has he ever told someone else about us, where we are, anything. And then…you show up, with our address and his name, a gunshot wound, and these big fucking…Bambi eyes, saying you need help.”

Harry felt the corner of his mouth quirk upwards at the Bambi comment, and he found that he didn’t mind it so much, not if it came from one of the Malik’s. “And?”

“And…he clearly cares about you,” Doniya said quietly, “or he never would’ve sent you here. Was he… Was he good to you?”

“At first?” he offered with a laugh. “No. He punched me, knocked me out, and threatened to kill me quite a few times. But… He’s a good person. I can see it.”

“The best,” she corrected him.

Harry swallowed as he nodded, because she was right. Zayn might’ve come across as a self-righteous, stubborn bastard when Harry first met him, but Harry knew that was a front. If it weren’t, Zayn wouldn’t have risked anything for him, simple as. “Yeah,” he agreed, brushing his fingers through Safaa’s hair before gently lifting her up, standing, and resting her back down against the couch; he pulled the afghan over her shoulders, tucking it under her chin, and turned to face Doniya. “M’gonna step outside, need some air,” he rushed out quickly, stepping out of the room before Doniya could say anything else or try to stop him. 

The early September air was cool against his cheeks as he stepped out onto the grass; the sun was just about to set, red and orange and yellow across the horizon, and it allowed Harry to drift off for a moment. His eyes slipped shut as he breathed in deep, trying to calm his mind.

“He’s gonna be okay,” he whispered to himself calmly. “He’s going to be okay.”

“Talking to yourself, Bambi?”

Harry’s eyes flew open and instantly landed on Zayn, who was stood in front of him with a lopsided smile and dried blood on the side of his face. Harry didn’t hesitate before throwing his arms around Zayn’s neck and kissing him, his heart hammering in his chest. 

Zayn slid his arm around Harry’s waist, holding him tightly and savoring the taste of his lips, before he pulled away with a wince. “Fuck, are you okay?”

“M’fine, m’fine,” Harry promised, hands cupping Zayn’s cheek. He frowned when his fingers trailed through the line of blood, a little getting under his nails, and his eyes went all worried. “What did they do to you?”

“Nothing,” Zayn said, eyes roaming Harry’s face for any sign of danger or pain, the queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach calming when Harry appeared to be physically fine for the most part. 

“Zayn—“

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Zayn rushed out quickly, digging his fingers into Harry’s curls and pulling him in for a bruising kiss. Being so close to his mum and sisters for the first time in almost a year didn’t phase him, didn’t even cross his mind, as he slid his tongue across Harry’s, the touch of lips and teeth familiar and grounding. 

Harry whimpered as Zayn bit at his lip before pulling away, and he sucked in a deep breath. “We—We—We—Outside, um—“ he stuttered, mind going a little hazy at the way Zayn’s fingers were scratching at his scalp. 

“Inside, yeah,” Zayn agreed, resting his forehead against Harry’s, breathing against him for a moment before he started walking Harry backwards towards the house. Harry fumbled for the door handle, nearly falling on his arse as he stumbled into the house, Zayn pushing him up against the first wall he saw and kissing him again. Zayn kicked the door shut with his foot, barely registered the sound of it slamming, and he shifted closer to Harry; he slid a leg between Harry’s, pressing him up and against the wall, savoring the little sounds Harry was making.

_”What was that?”_

_“Zayn’s back.”_

Harry pulled away to catch his breath, grinding down a little bit on Zayn’s thigh, his eyes slipping shut. He forced them open as he cupped Zayn’s cheek, thumb brushing over the bruise that was emerging under his eye, feeling the cut there start to scab over already. He felt sick to his stomach at the mere thought of what Zayn had been through; he wanted to ask but he also wanted to kiss Zayn until neither of them could think straight, so that’s what he went with.

_”Oh, I should—“_

_“Not follow them upstairs. At all.”_

_“But Doniya—“_

_“Don’t, Liam. Trust me.”_

_“But I—Oh… **Oh…** ”_

Zayn slid his hands around Harry’s waist, dipping under his shirt to press against his hot skin. “Upstairs,” he whispered against Harry’s lips, digging his fingertips into the soft skin of Harry’s lower back as he tugged him away from the wall. 

Harry couldn’t remember how on Earth they made it up the stairs, couldn’t remember anything past the feel of Zayn’s lips against his, against his neck, his fingertips on his skin. And before he knew it, Zayn was pushing him through an open doorway, kicking the door shut, and laying Harry down on the bed. Harry wrapped his legs around Zayn’s waist and tugged him down, fitting their lips together again as his hands found the button of Zayn’s jeans, undoing them and getting his prick out. 

Zayn hissed against Harry’s mouth as Harry shoved his jeans and pants down his hips, the sound turning into a laugh as Harry whined against him when Zayn’s jeans got stuck around his knees. He pressed his lips to Harry’s nose quickly before he stood up, kicking off his boots and shoving his jeans and pants down his legs, nudging them aside with his heel. Harry reached up for him, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth when Zayn caught his hand, pressing his lips against his palm before pushing his wrist back towards the bed with a quirk of his eyebrow. He pulled at the zip of Harry’s jeans, tugging them over the swell of his arse and down his pretty little thighs, pushing them off the edge of the bed as he pressed his lips to the juncture of Harry’s hip and thigh. 

“Zayn,” Harry breathed out as Zayn trailed his lips across his stomach, nipping at the little bit of tummy. He pushed Harry’s shirt up, kissing at every inch of exposed skin until the shirt was rucked up under his arm. Harry lifted his arms up, pulling the shirt off, not even caring that a bit of the fabric on his left arm had tugged at his wound, causing a jolt of pain to shoot up his arm, because it was a little hard to _focus_ when Zayn had wrapped his lips around one of his nipples, teeth tugging and pulling and sending waves of pleasure throughout Harry’s body, his cock fattening up against his stomach. “Zayn,” he whined, reaching for his biceps and wrapping his fingers around his golden skin, torn between wanting to push him away so he could get _more_ and wanting to keep him close because it felt _so good._

Zayn laughed against Harry’s chest, laving his tongue over one of his nipples before sitting back and staring at the younger boy. Harry’s curls were a mess, his cheeks flushed, lips swollen and bitten red, nipples swollen, and Zayn wanted to fuck him up—well, he wanted to fuck _him_ and fuck him _up,_ whatever. He smoothed his hand over Harry’s chest, over the swallows inked against his collarbones, fingertips pinching at his nipple before tracing down his chest and stomach, wrapping around the base of his cock. Harry whined, high-pitched and wanton, as he threw his head back against the mattress, curses falling from his lips. “Good?” Zayn asked, his voice a little raspy.

“Yeah,” Harry panted, nodding and reaching for the hem of Zayn’s shirt. “Off, off, off,” he murmured, pulling at the fabric and pushing it up Zayn’s side, stilling when he saw the blood dried on his ribcage. “Zayn—“ he whispered, sitting up slowly, his heart still racing in his chest, and he could no longer differentiate between the arousal and worry. 

“M’fine,” Zayn told him, brushing Harry’s hand away.

“No, you—you’ve been shot,” Harry said quietly, eyes wide and sad, and he slowly pulled Zayn’s shirt over his head, tossing it aside. He didn’t allow Zayn to push his hand away again, resting his fingertips lightly around the puckered skin, hesitating only slightly before running his fingers over it softly. “What did he—“ he swallowed, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry. This is all my—“

“No,” Zayn said, cutting him off quickly and efficiently, brushing their lips together. “I’m _fine._ And you’re fine. And that’s what matters. Wounds heal, and you’re safe, and that’s _all_ I care about,” he told him, voice thick with an emotion that he refused to place or recognize, one he thought he could never even allow himself to _have_ in the first place, and he let Harry pull him into his arms and into another kiss, practically melting against his body. 

“Wanna take care of you,” Harry whispered against Zayn’s lips, reaching for his hips. “Always take care of me, wanna take care of you.”

“Shh,” Zayn murmured, smoothing his hands down Harry’s sides, down his thighs, and he gently pushed Harry down against the mattress, crawling up the length of his body to press his lips against the smooth column of his neck. Harry was rutting up against him, desperate for more, desperate for _something,_ and Zayn had denied him of so much for so long, he couldn’t say no. “C’mon, babe, get your head on the pillows,” he told him.

Harry whined as Zayn sat back, causing the older boy to laugh softly and drag Harry where he wanted him, head resting on the cold pillow. “Zayn—“

“Shh,” he repeated, leaning over Harry and digging through the nightstand.

“What are you—“

“This is my room—was my room,” he corrected with a shake of his head. He sat back between Harry’s legs, a small tube in hand, and he shrugged. “S’where I stay whenever I visit. Haven’t done in a while.” He stared at the bottle in his hand for a moment, eyes narrowing. “Does lube expire?”

Harry giggled, cheeks pink, and he reached up to cover his mouth to stifle his laughter. “Does lube—“

“It’s a valid question,” Zayn insisted, leaning in and kissing Harry to shut him up. “Guess we’ll find out, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded in agreement, shifting his hips and letting his legs fall open a little wider, allowing Zayn to adjust more comfortably between them. 

Zayn smiled softly as he flipped open the lid, smoothing some out across his fingers, and he leaned in to press his lips to Harry’s again, unable to get enough now that he really felt like he was _allowed_ to kiss him. Harry sighed softly against him, the sound turning into a cut off moan when Zayn’s fingers circled around his rim, pushing two in slowly. 

Harry’s back arched, his lips falling away from Zayn’s as he turned his face into the pillow, gasping for air. “Fuck,” he panted as Zayn quickly moved his fingers, stretching and pulling and barely brushing against that little bundle of nerves deep inside. Harry pushed his hips back, desperate for more and saying as much as he begged Zayn for another; he wrapped his right leg around Zayn’s thigh, trying to pull him in closer. “Zayn—Zayn, _fuck._ ”

Zayn bit his bottom lip as he watched Harry writhe beneath him, cheeks a pretty pink and lips swollen, and he added a third because, fuck, even though he had said no to Harry plenty of times, he was so bad at _saying no to Harry._ Harry gasped loudly, knuckles going white where his hands were fisted in the sheets, cock smearing precome across his belly until it was all shiny and wet. Zayn licked his lips, reaching down with his free hand to squeeze at the base of his cock, trying to alleviate at least some of the pressure. 

“C’mon, Zayn, please—please,” Harry panted, fumbling and reaching between his legs for Zayn’s wrist, wrapping his fingers around the tan skin. “M’ready, m’ready, need you, please—“ 

With a nod, Zayn stilled and pulled is fingers out, wrapping them around Harry’s prick and smiling softly when Harry’s eyes fluttered shut, a little _oh_ leaving his lips. He jerked him off slowly until Harry was slapping at his wrist and whining about how he was going to _come any minute, Christ, Zayn._ Part of Zayn wanted to take that as a challenge, to see how much Harry could take in a short span of time before he was coming, mumbling and incoherent, but Zayn also just wanted to get his hands on Harry in whatever way he _could._

He settled between Harry’s legs, grabbing the base of his cock and pressing himself to Harry’s opening, wet with slick and stretched out just enough. Harry’s fingers were pressing into his bicep, a mess of _please_ and _fuck me, Zayn, please, for the love of God_ slipping past his lips, and Zayn was more than a little bit crazy about the way Harry said his name when he was like this, overwhelmed and aroused beyond belief. He pushed in, sucking in a deep breath to try to regulate his breathing, and Harry was tight all around him, tight and wet and Zayn squeezed his eyes shut tight, tight enough that he could swear he was seeing white as he pushed deeper into Harry, exhaling when he bottomed out, and he swore Harry clenched around him then, just a little. 

“Oh, fuck,” Harry breathed out, panting as he dug his nails into Zayn’s arm, shifting his hips and pushing down against him. 

Zayn hissed at the movement, pressing Harry’s hips down against the bed, causing the younger boy to moan loudly, back arching off of the mattress. Zayn hesitated for only a moment before he pulled back, just a little, and thrusting back in. Harry clenched his teeth as Zayn moved slowly, too slowly, just rocking his hips enough to brush against his prostate but not nearly enough to stimulate him the way Harry’s body, the way _Harry,_ wanted. 

“Zayn—“ Harry whined, trying to push his hips back against Zayn’s, but he couldn’t because Zayn still had a tight grip on his waist, and he didn’t know what he loved more—the feeling of Zayn deep inside of him, stretching him out and filling him up, or the way Zayn’s hands felt against his waist, stilling him and taking control. 

With as much self-control as he could muster, Zayn pulled out and slammed back in, the wood of the headboard smacking against the wall. Harry nearly screamed as the head of Zayn’s cock hit the little bundle of nerves, causing waves of pleasure to roll down his spine, and he threw his hand back toward the headboard, missing and pressing against the wall, as Zayn started to fuck into him in earnest. 

Harry’s mouth fell open to say something, _anything,_ but he was at a loss for words when Zayn picked up the pace, fucking into him roughly with a quick roll of his hips, his hand wrapping around Harry’s cock and squeezing. He mewled, head falling back as his back arched almost painfully off of the bed, and he reached out with his other hand for Zayn’s side, fingers brushing across the wound on his ribs. 

Zayn cursed as he felt Harry’s fingers against the wound, and he felt like he was losing his mind, the sensations overwhelming. His fingers gripped Harry’s hip tight enough to bruise, and a part of him liked that—wanted to bruise Harry up with his lips and teeth and tongue and fingers, make it so everyone knew that Harry belonged to someone—maybe not him, but _someone._ He jerked Harry off quickly, wrist going a bit achy with the speed, swiping his thumb across the wet tip, smearing the precome over his cock and squeezing on the upstroke.

“C’on, fuck, gonna—gonna come, Zayn. F—Fuck, come in me, please—“ Harry panted out, moaning when Zayn fucked into him deep, and he dug his nails into Zayn’s side, scratching and breaking the skin as he lost control and came, spilling over his fist with a cry of Zayn’s name leaving his lips as he felt some of Zayn’s blood pool up under his nails as he scratched down his side. 

Zayn fell down onto his forearm, holding Harry’s hip in place as he fucked deep into him, barely managing a few thrusts before he was coming with a grunt, back arching as he came deep inside of Harry. He was pretty sure he saw stars, eyes squeezing shut, as he collapsed on top of Harry’s lithe body. It took him a few moments to come to slowly pulling out of Harry with a wet little sound, a line of spunk trailing from the head of his cock across Harry’s thigh as he lay down next to him, panting as he struggled to catch his breath. 

“What was that you said earlier about taking your time?” Harry breathed out as Zayn collapsed on the bed next to him as soon as he found the strength to speak. 

Zayn groaned, reaching out slowly and ruffling Harry’s curls, causing the younger boy to giggle softly. “Next time,” he promised.

Harry rolled over onto his side, nudging his nose against Zayn’s, and pressing their lips together. Zayn half-heartedly kissed him back, lazily moving their lips together, and Harry pulled back with a smile. He lifted himself up onto his elbow, trailing his fingertips down Zayn’s side, past the bloody fingerprints that he had left earlier when he had been a little distracted with the way Zayn had been fucking into him, scratching his fingers down his side and through the fresh wound that was still trying to heal. It was barely scabbing over, the blood smeared across his side, and Harry didn’t miss the way Zayn winced when he ran his fingers over the wound. “Does it hurt?” he whispered, rubbing his thumb along the puckered skin, and he wasn’t even disgusted that he had Zayn’s blood caked beneath his nails, told himself he could clean it out later, no big deal. 

“A little,” Zayn admitted, rolling over onto his back. He raised his left arm up, wincing through the pain of the little pull of skin on his side as he rested his arm behind his head. He watched Harry as he stared at the wound, jaw dropping just a little as Harry leaned down and pressed his lips to Zayn’s skin. 

“Better?” Harry asked, sending Zayn a lopsided smile.

“All better,” Zayn said breathlessly, reaching up to brush his thumb across Harry’s lips, wiping at the little bit of blood that had collected on Harry’s lips. 

Harry’s smile widened and he kissed Zayn’s thumb before sitting up and getting out of bed. “M’gonna get you a flannel for that,” he said, “clean meself up while m’at it.”

“Kinda like seein’ you like this,” Zayn told him with a grin as Harry blushed, narrowing his eyes in a gesture that was meant to be intimidating but only had Zayn laughing as he stumbled into the bathroom a few feet away, his thighs still wet and shiny. 

Harry emerged from the bathroom a couple of minutes later, a wet flannel in hand, and he climbed back onto the bed. He straddled Zayn’s lap and carefully wiped at Zayn’s side, cleaning up the excess blood around his ribcage. He was silent while he did so, being as gentle as he could so he didn’t hurt Zayn even more. 

Zayn reached out, resting his hand on Harry’s hip, squeezing softly. “Thank you.”

Harry lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “S’pose it’s my turn to take care of you now, yeah?” he said with a bit of a laugh, folding up the flannel and tossing it over the side of the bed. He curled up against Zayn, lying halfway on top of him, and reached for the blanket, pulling it over their legs. 

Zayn slid his hand across Harry’s hip, resting on the curve of his bum, and he rested his chin on top of Harry’s head, his body unconsciously rolling a little closer to him, bodies fitting together. “I’m sorry,” Zayn whispered into Harry’s curls. 

“I’m sorry he hurt you,” Harry told him with a sniffle. “I didn’t want any of this to happen.”

Zayn felt his heart clench as he felt a couple of tears hit the side of his neck. “It’s all over now, Bambi,” he promised. “He’ll never hurt me, or you, again. I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again, okay?”


End file.
